


The Fire of Thine Eyes

by LostGirl



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Season Three AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-09
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 92,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostGirl/pseuds/LostGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles finds Wesley lying, badly beaten, on the library floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Begins directly after 'Bad Girls', AU from there on out with bits and pieces taken from all over the end of BtVS season three.

The library floor was cold.  It seeped into Wesley, making even his insides shiver.  He'd only woken a moment ago, but couldn't bring himself to move.  He'd tried, but the dizziness sent him crashing to the floor again.  He'd been there researching when he'd heard a sound behind the stacks.  It was too late for anyone else to still be in the building.  He was alone then, just as he was now.  Alone . . . and cold.

He might have dozed.  There were footsteps now.  Warm hands on his face, someone lifting him to a sitting position.  The nausea swam up and his eyes snapped open.

Mr. Giles was studying his face, expression soft and calm.  He never looked at Wesley like that.  That look was reserved for the children, for when they needed comfort.  The silence suddenly seemed to fill the library and Wesley couldn't meet that gaze, didn't deserve it.

"Someone hit me," he whispered, eyes slanting away, shamed by the way his voice broke.

"So I see."  Giles' voice was softer than he'd ever heard it before, washing over his aching head like a salve.  "Do you think you can stand?  If I help you?"

"Of-of course," he responded at once, realizing how odd it must look for him to just lie there, letting Giles hold him up.  He made to move and his stomach jumped into his throat, choking him.

"Slowly.  Slowly," Giles soothed, helping Wesley to turn to the side as his lunch met the library floor.  A warm hand rubbed circles over his back, replacing the cold with a heat that wanted to rush to Wesley's face and . . . other regions.  "Don't try to move so quickly.  I'm not going anywhere."

Wesley nodded, immediately regretting the action when the world spun.

"Let's try to get you sitting on your own before we go for standing."  With Giles' help, Wesley struggled semi-upright, propping himself against the bookcase.

"I'll be right back.  Is that okay?"

Wesley remembered not to nod this time, though, in truth, he didn't want Giles to leave.  He knew it was idiotic, still some voice in his head whispered that Giles might not return to help him.  Taking in huge gasps of air in an attempt to keep his stomach in place, Wesley waited, listening to the library doors open and then close.

Panic tried to overwhelm him.  Wesley fought it, all the while forcing himself to move, to not be left there, alone.  It was an effort to climb to his feet and an accomplishment just to keep his stomach from jumping into his throat once again.  Sweating with the effort--which really was bizarre because it was so _cold_ in the library--Wesley leaned against the bookcase.

"Wesley?"  He hadn't heard Giles return, but the man was standing right there, watching him with worried eyes.  "I told you I'd be right back.  You shouldn't have tried to stand by yourself."  There was no reproach in the gentle voice and Wesley sighed his relief.

"Sorry," he muttered, closing his eyes against the dizziness, then opening them again at the feel of something warm and wet against his lips.

Giles dabbed at his face with wet paper towels and Wesley nearly groaned.

"Just let me clean this up and we'll be on our way," Giles assured him, wrapping Wesley' hand around the paper towels to keep it held to his face.

This was horrible.  First attacked, now all but helpless in front of . . . and Mr. Giles left to clean up . . . _I hate Sunnydale._

"Yes, it can be a trial," Giles replied and it took Wesley a moment to realize he'd spoken aloud.  "Still.  There are . . . perks to being here."

"I haven't seen any yet," Wesley said, closing his eyes and letting Giles tend to him.  It felt good to have someone fussing, even if part of him was deeply embarrassed.

"Let's see if we can't remedy that . . . after you've rested."  Giles' voice was right in his ear, his breath on Wesley's neck, sending little shivers down his spine.  Wesley swallowed against the lump in his throat.  Too surprised to resist, he allowed Giles to take his weight.  It was easier to move now, with the dizziness lessening.

"Where, uh, where are we going?"

"To my car, of course," Giles answered, a small smile playing over his lips.  "Someone will have to stay with you tonight, to wake you every little while.  I know the routine."

"Uh," Wesley shivered once again, this time because of what his imagination was making of the friendly words.  "I--I don't want to intrude, don't want to be a bother."

"You're shivering.  Don't worry.  We'll get you warmed up soon."

******

Giles propped him into the front seat, large hands brushing Wesley as he buckled the seatbelt around him.  The contact was shocking and warm and Wesley had to bite his lips to stifle the gasps, to keep from embarrassing himself any further than he clearly already had.

The ride went by in silence, or at least Wesley was fairly sure it did.  The car's movement made him dizzy and what mind he had remaining tried frantically to convince him that his reactions stemmed from the fact that it had been so long since anyone really touched him.  Wesley refused to let himself think about exactly how long it had been.

They parked in front of Giles' flat and Wesley realized it wasn't the motion that would bring back the nausea; it was the stopping.  He watched, as if from a distance, as his clumsy hands scrambled at the door, pushing it open almost violently.  He tried to lean out, but the seatbelt held him still and Wesley whimpered, unable to work the damned thing.

Larger hands pushed his away.  The seatbelt loosened and Wesley threw himself to his knees outside the car, dry heaves wracking his body and making his head feel as if someone had hollowed it out with a sharp ice cream scoop.  Once again, there was a warm hand on his back, low nonsense whispered in his ear.  As much as he hated himself for it, he liked the comfort, reveled in it even as his body jerked and his ribs began to ache.

When the heaving finally passed, Wesley hung his head, too exhausted to stand.  There wasn't much choice but to allow Giles to help him up and all but walk him to his flat.  Wesley hissed as he leaned against the wall, waiting for Giles to unlock the door.  He was beginning to feel the rest of his body, even through the ache in his head, beginning to think it wasn't just the concussion making him stiff and weak.

"Come on."  Wesley started at Giles' words, found the man holding out an arm to him, looking expectant.  Had he faded out?  He remembered not to shake the cobwebs out of his head this time.

"At least I'm a quick learner," he muttered to himself, earning a raised eyebrow from Giles.  "Nothing," he continued by way of explanation, glancing away.

"We'll get you settled on the couch.  I'll start a fire and get you some tea before I have a look at those cuts."

"Cuts?"  Wesley blinked, trying to bring Giles into focus, only then realizing he wasn't wearing his glasses.

"Someone did a number on you."  The hard edge in Giles' voice left Wesley wondering what he'd done wrong.  Panic began to well as he was eased down onto the couch.  He'd done something wrong.  Would Giles still help him?  How cross had he made Giles?  How bad was this going to be?

"Don't worry," Giles laid a throw over him, tucking it under his legs with a gentleness that took Wesley's breath away.  "We'll find out who did this.  I promise."  The hard edge remained, but it was somehow softened by the careful way Giles was handling him.  The panic didn't fade, but it did settle, only to flare into fireworks a moment later when Giles' ministrations brought his face mere inches from Wesley's.

Everything seemed to slow.  Giles noticed where his face was, but didn't pull away.  Instead, his eyes flickered up, meeting Wesley's head on, trapping him.  Wesley stared, unable to look away, swallowing against the sudden, aching dryness that claimed his throat.  Their lips were inches apart, so close he could feel Giles' breath on his skin.  Giles' tongue flickered out, wetting his firm mouth.  The motion freed Wesley's eyes and, as he watched, the urge to lick his own lips was nearly overwhelming.

He'd never kissed another man before.  He'd thought about it.  Often, if he was truthful with himself.  He'd even thought of kissing this man and . . . touching him.  Wesley was nearly certain part of that fantasy was about to actually happen.

Giles straightened, pulling away, and cleared his throat, turning to start a fire.  Wesley choked back a whimper, his breath coming fast as he sought to understand what had just happened.  He had been so sure . . . maybe he'd been projecting or . . . oh, God.  What if Giles hadn't felt the same at all?  His thoughts had to have been obvious.

_Oh, God.  Oh, God._

"I don't mean to be a bother," he croaked out, moving to stand despite the way his ribs protested.

"Sit still," Giles admonished, one large hand landing on Wesley' shoulder, gently pressing him back to the couch.  "You sound hoarse.  I should get you that tea."

Wesley fidgeted, listening to Giles clatter around in the kitchen.  His stomach was doing gymnastics and not only from the nausea.  The urge to turn and look gnawed at him, but he fought it, keeping his eyes trained on the fire.

 _It was nothing,_ he kept telling himself, repeating it as if the mantra would become a shield against further embarrassment.  Still, his mind kept throwing up the image of Giles' lips, so close they'd have filled his vision if he'd have let them.

"Here you are."  Wesley jumped at the sound of Giles' voice, his mind having wandered off into the memory.

"Did you doze?"  Giles sat next to him, a cup of tea in either hand.  Wesley accepted his without ever meeting Giles' gaze.  "I'm sorry if I startled you."

"I wasn't sleeping," Wesley replied after a grateful sip at his mug.  The warmth of it did more for him even than the taste, which was pure heaven after so long without proper tea.  He could feel it chasing away the cold inside him and that made him drowsy.

"But you will be soon," Giles chuckled, settling back onto the couch, one arm stretching over the back.

Wesley almost choked when he felt that arm brush him, just slightly.  He recovered quickly enough to send a reassuring look to Giles, who'd straightened immediately, worried.

Worried . . . about him?

"Swallowed badly," Wesley muttered, leaning back.  His eyes felt so heavy, but he really shouldn't fall asleep here.  It wasn't polite.  Wasn't he supposed to stay awake?

"Here," Giles took the warm cup from his hands.  Wesley opened his mouth to protest, but Giles cut him off.  "You can have it back as soon as I've looked at those cuts.  You'll be falling asleep soon and I want to get them taken care of first.  Is that all right?"

Wesley nodded, not sure he had words.

"I'm just going to fetch the first aid kit."  Again, Wesley nodded.  Why was Giles doing all this?  Why be so nice to him?  Giles didn't even like him.  He could have just as easily dropped Wesley at the hospital and washed his hands of the whole affair.  So, why hadn't he?

"Here we are," Giles said as he returned, probably attempting not to startle Wesley once again.

Attempting to avoid the other man's eyes, Wesley found his gaze stuck on Giles' hands.  He'd looked at them before, knew they were large, weapon roughened.  He'd never let himself stare though.  Now, he couldn't help himself.  He watched each muscle flex, each tendon pull tight, each scar bunch and pull at the surrounding skin.  There were many scars, though Wesley didn't know what put them there.  He wanted to ask, to know something about this man whose fingers brushed his lips gently, dabbing at blood and who knew what else.  The words wouldn't come.  His mind felt hazy and it was so much easier to close his eyes, to relax into the strong touch and pretend.

"Wesley?  Are you falling asleep on me?"  The words were vague things, buzzing in his ear, but easy to ignore.  A sigh followed, but there was no anger in it and so Wesley continued to ignore.  He felt as if he were sinking, but if felt good.  His body no longer seemed so cold and he was comfortable, more so then he'd been in ages.  The ache remained, throbbing in the background, but not enough to disturb his exhaustion.

There were hands on him, unbuttoning his shirt.  Wesley sat up with a start, eyes snapping open.  Mr. Giles had jerked back, falling on his arse and staring at Wesley with bewildered eyes.

"Wesley?  Are you all right?"

"Mr. Giles?"

"Rupert."  Giles corrected.  It took Wesley a moment to process that, confused by the rapid change from sleeping to waking.  The abrupt movement had set his head to pounding again and his mind spun like a top.  He realized how hard he was breathing and tried to calm down as he blinked and looked around the room, trying to orient himself.

"Wesley."

His eyes snapped to Giles at the sound of the man's voice, his mouth forming words just as reflexively.  "Yes?"

There was that look on Giles' face again, the one given only to the children when they laid their problems on his doorstep.  Wesley had watched the ex-Watcher talking to them, wondering if they knew how lucky they were to have . . . anyone look at them with such compassion and caring.  He knew he must still be asleep then.

"Is this a dream?"

One of Mr. Giles' eyebrows lifted, a bemused smile lightening his face.  "I don't believe so.  I doubt you'd be so injured if either of us were dreaming."

Wesley didn't know what to say to that.  It was true, but then it wasn't.  Sometimes pain carried through into dreams, even if it wasn't enough to wake you up when you were drained, when everything was dark and too cramped to move.

"I need to see how bad it is.  Wesley?"  Giles' voice dragged him back to the moment and for that, alone, he was grateful.

"What?"

"Your chest.  I can see the bruising around your collar . . . it looks as if someone tried to strangle you."  The last was ground out, Mr. Giles' jaw clenching around the words.

Wesley blinked, trying to follow the change in tone as much as the words themselves.  "Someone throttled me?  You want . . . what?"

"I need you to take off your shirt," Giles sighed, standing to come and sit beside him on the couch.  Heat rolled off Giles' body and Wesley began wonder what his skin would feel like, only to quickly cut off that train of thought, turning his mind to the words.

"Oh . . . uh, yes, of-of course."

Giles studied him for a moment and then nodded, his hands moving to the buttons of Wesley's shirt once again.  Wesley closed his eyes, though there really wasn't any hope of his falling asleep again.  Not with Giles gently removing his shirt.

Wesley flinched at the first prod, his eyes flying open.  He forced himself to be still again when Giles winced and apologized.  He'd have liked to get a look at the damage for himself, but didn't have the energy to get to the bathroom mirror.

"Is-is it bad?"  He couldn't keep the words inside any longer.  He had to know the extent of it.

"You're black and blue," Mr. Giles commented, voice rough.

 _I must be quite a mess,_ Wesley thought, closing his eyes so he didn't have to see the anger or reproach on Giles' face.  He already knew he should have done better, already knew that he was a pathetic excuse for a Watcher.  He'd been told often enough and didn't need Giles to confirm it.

"I--I didn't even see them," he murmured, mostly to himself.  It wasn't an excuse, he knew that, but he only wanted to try to explain before Giles could get too worked up.

"I know."  The soft comfort in Mr. Giles' voice took him by surprised.  Wesley opened his eyes to find Giles watching him.  Wesley's breath caught in his throat as he met the man's eyes, nearly choking him when Giles laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  "We'll find them.  They won't get away with this."  Wesley could only stare, realizing for the first time that Giles wasn't angry with him.

"You--you don't think that I . . ." unable to finish the sentence, Wesley looked away, his eyes finding their way to Giles' hands.  Wesley' stomach knotted, realizing that Giles hadn't moved his other hand.  It still rested on his shoulder, kneading gently.

"That you what, Wesley?"

"I should have been able to protect myself," he answered without thought, listing the things he'd done wrong.  "I should have been more aware.  I should have--"

"No," Giles interrupted, voice so intense it drew Wesley's eyes back to his face.  "This isn't your fault."  Four words.  Just small words, really, but strung together in a way that made his breath catch, made tears he'd never shed prickle at his eyes.

"I--I should have--"

Giles' lips cut off his words this time.  The man closed in so quickly that Wesley didn't have time to panic.  Out of nowhere, it seemed to him, there was a firm pressure, soft lips rubbing against his own.

A whimper escaped him when Giles' tongue slipped out, licking at him almost urgently.  Wesley opened under the onslaught, his body reacting quickly, his heartbeat thudding in his ears.  Giles' tongue snaked into his mouth and Wesley moaned, his muscles relaxing.  He melted against Giles, half-disbelieving and half-desperate for any touch at all.  Then Giles was pulling away and Wesley heard himself whimper at the loss.

"I--God, Wesley, I'm so sorry," Giles muttered before fleeing to the kitchen.

Wesley stared at the wall, shocked, unsure.  Finally, he blinked, heat rising to his face as he tried not to cry.  The last thing he needed was to cry, and in front of Giles no less.  As if he hadn't embarrassed himself enough for the next century.

"Here."  Wesley jumped at the sound of Giles' voice, sending pain jolting along his bruised torso.

Giles handed him a fresh cup of tea and sat on the couch once again, this time putting far more distance between them.

 _He's probably afraid I'll want to kiss him again,_ Wesley thought with a self-deprecating snort.  Still, he had to know what he'd done wrong.  Having been handed something he'd wanted for . . . a long time, he had to know why it had been taken away.

"Was . . . I, uh.  What was wrong with it?"

"What?"  Giles looked at him as if he'd just asked why the moon was crimson.  "What was wrong with what?"

_Perhaps he wanted to pretend it didn't happen?_

"With," Wesley looked away, staring into his teacup as if it held the answers to everything.  "With the kiss . . . did I . . . was I . . ." he didn't even know how to finish the question.

"What?  Oh, Wesley," Giles scooted closer to him.  "Look at me."

He didn't particularly want to but, all the same, Wesley raised his gaze to meet Giles'.  The other man's expression was soft and searching, so caring . . . he wanted to believe it was for him, but he knew it was only because he was injured.

"I shouldn't have kissed you," Giles confused him, saying that, but at the same time reaching out to lay a gentle hand on his cheek.  Wesley found it hard to concentrate on what the other man was saying, found it hard to think with those rough fingers rubbing at his jaw line.  "You're hurt, and dazed.  You have a concussion.  It was wrong of me . . . Which doesn't mean I wouldn't do exactly the same thing if I had to do it over."

"You'd . . ." Wesley stared, leaning his head into that touch, taking a risk, but barely caring anymore.  "You'd kiss me again?"

"If you weren't injured?  I'd do a hell of a lot more to you than kiss you."  Giles' voice and eyes were frank, blunt even, in a way that Wesley simply couldn't doubt.  His cock hardened at what he was hearing, setting up a throbbing ache inside him.  Of course, the feel of Giles' . . . _Rupert's_ hand on his face did nothing to impair his reaction.

"I've--" he shouldn't say it.  He should take what he'd gotten, more than he'd ever expected, and be happy with it, savor it and pull it close on cold nights, but--"I've heard that kisses can be healing to bruises and scrapes."

One of Giles' eyebrows rose, a smile lifting lips that Wesley now knew were just as soft as they looked.  Giles leaned in, so slow Wesley thought he might die of the waiting.  Then that mouth was pressed to his again.  The kiss was little more than a fleeting brush to his split lip, but had Wesley's cock twitching.

Next Giles was kissing his face, so sweet and perfect that Wesley could have died a happy man.  There was a flicker of tongue as Giles worked over his jaw line and Wesley moaned, hips thrusting up embarrassingly when Giles' mouth reached his chest.

The man rumbled against him and Wesley let his head fall back onto the sofa, his breathing harsh and rasping.  "So responsive," Giles was murmuring, lips rubbing against Wesley's sensitive skin with every word, "So very hot for it."  Giles' hand slipped onto his thigh and Wesley arched into the touch, ignoring the dizziness that warned against too much movement.  "So eager."

Wesley groaned, intentionally biting the split in his lip and welcoming the pain, as it kept him from coming and embarrassing himself.  Giles pulled away again, moving to meet Wesley's eyes.

"Have you ever been with a man, Wesley?"  Wesley had no words.  Fearing Giles's reaction, his laughter, Wesley shook his head, but said nothing.

Giles moved closer, bending one leg under himself so that his body pressed along Wesley's side and his lips were right at Wesley' ear.  Wesley closed his eyes, shivering at the feel of Giles' breath against his neck, drinking in the man's low murmurs.

"I'll change that for you," he whispered, husky and hoarse.  "Show you how good it can be."  Giles hand brushed Wesley' stomach, making the muscles contract and pushing a startled breath out of Wesley.  "Kiss every bruise and scrape.  But you need to rest first.  Need to sleep and heal.  How does that sound, Wesley?"

"Like heaven."  Wesley felt a blush rise in his cheeks at his own words, but he refused to take them back.

"That's a good boy.  Relax.  Sleep and I'll watch over you."  Giles pulled Wesley up against him, his back to Giles' front, and Wesley moaned.  He let his head fall back on Giles' shoulder with a fidgeting smile.  When there was no reproof, he relaxed further, breath moving quick in and out of his lungs.

"Do I have to sleep?"

"Yes.  I'm not about to take you while you have a concussion."  Wesley shivered, gasping.  Giles rearranged himself beneath him and suddenly Wesley felt the man's erection pressing into the small of his back.

"I--I don't know if I can sleep . . . like, um, this."

"I think you'll be surprised at just how easy that will be," Giles whispered in his ear, followed by a few words in Latin that Wesley realized as a sleep spell, something easily deflected had he actually wanted to.

"You'll--You will still be here when I wake up . . . right?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Wesley.  I'll be here to wake you up, every hour."


	2. Chapter Two

"Wesley?"  A gentle voice broke through the layers of fog that shrouded his brain.  Wesley grumbled at it, trying to turn on his side.  Pain shot through him at the move, jolting him from his sleep.  He tried to sit before he thought better of it and let out a hoarse cry when his stiff, bruised body objected.  Strong hands supported his back, helping him, the same voice tsking at him.  "I was afraid you'd be a little stiff."

"Thanks so much for sharing," Wesley ground out before he'd thought it through.  He was immediately contrite, his face heating up as he realized he'd just snapped at Giles and after all the man had done for him.  Helping him out of the library and . . .

Opening his eyes, he found Giles smiling slightly, one eyebrow quirked at him.  "Well, I see you're feeling better, at least well enough to put on some of that old Wyndam-Pryce charm.  I think I liked you better with a concussion."

Wesley might have winced had there not been a teasing tone in Giles voice.  As it was, he was left feeling quite confused.  His memories of the night before were hazy, fading in and out, but he was almost certain he remembered . . . kissing.  Quite a bit of kissing, actually, and mostly not on his part.  Wesley could feel his face turning red and was therefore glad that Giles had gone to the kitchen for some reason.  He could still feel the heat from Giles hands and, combined with what snatches of memory he had from the night before . . .

 _Stop thinking about it_ , he ordered himself, though he had little hope of doing so.  He wasn't sure how to face this situation, wasn't sure which parts were real and which he'd dreamed.  There had been kissing.  He was sure of that not because his memory was clear, but because the sensory memory of Giles' lips on his was so very strong.  The rest though . . . Giles' lips on his chest, Giles' hands on his cock, rubbing and--no, that had to be a dream, right?

There had been words, too.  He knew they had talked, of course.  Giles had asked him about the injuries, but . . . something else, something that flitted around the edges of his mind like a shy butterfly.  At least Wesley remembered enough not to shake his head to clear it.

Hearing Giles' return, he tried to push his thoughts to the present.  Giles took the seat on the couch next to him, offering a glass of water and several aspirin.

"Here.  This should help with the headache and the foggy feeling should fade as the spell wears off.  It might take a while."

"Spell?"

"To help you sleep," Giles said, a strange smile lifting his lips.  The words brought forward more hazy memories, but Wesley pushed them aside, gladly accepting the water and painkillers.

"I'm afraid," Wesley said after swallowing the aspirin, "that my memory is a bit disrupted."

"Disrupted?"  Giles nodded, a slight thread of humor in his voice.  "Probably more along the lines of a watercolor left in the rain."

"Quite an accurate description," Wesley snorted, only then realizing Giles arm was around him.  Well, more laying along the back of the sofa, but definitely touching his tense shoulders.  "I, um, I . . . don't _really_ remember some things."  Wesley knew his fishing was painfully obvious, but couldn't think of anything more subtle.  He looked at his hands instead of meeting Giles' gaze, chewing on his lip as he waited for some kind of answer.

"Some things?"  Giles chuckled, a sound that Wesley thought should have surprised him, but somehow didn’t.  Giles didn't chuckle, not with him, and rarely enough with the children, at least in his presence.  "Which things, Wesley?"

Wesley looked up, meeting Giles' expressive eyes.  While they did indeed seem to hold laughter, he didn't think it was at his expense.  Unless he'd forgotten even more than he'd thought.

"I, uh, I seem to remember you saying something to me and I . . . you see, I had some rather, uh, odd dreams and I'm not sure I can separate what actually, er, took place from . . . that."  Wesley blinked, trying to run over that sentence in his mind and wincing.

Giles slid close, his arm brushing along the skin at the back of Wesley's neck, sending bolts of arousal straight to Wesley' cock.  Trying to make his shivers less than obvious, Wesley looked back to his hands, holding his breath as Giles leaned in close to his ear.

"Last night, I asked you if you'd ever been with another man before.  Can you remember what you answered?"

"Um," Wesley swallowed hard, panting a little at the feel of Giles' breath on his neck.  "Not as such, but . . . I'll assume I told the truth, which happens to be that, uh, no I-I haven't."

"Do you remember me telling you I'd change that for you?"  Giles' hand was on his thigh, squeezing gently.  Wesley's cock was aching now, pressed into a bad position due to his trousers.  He didn't want to move though, afraid he'd break whatever spell had been cast over Giles.  It seemed like the only logical conclusion.

There was always the slim chance that Giles was actually attracted to him.  That wasn't totally outside of the realm of possibility; it just didn't seem likely.  There had never been a hint before, had there?

"I, yes, I believe I remember that and, uh, something about, um, kissing . . ." Wesley knew he was blushing redder than young Willow's hair, but there was really no help for it.

"Kissing every bruise and scrape on your body, yes.  See, the haze is wearing away."  Giles commented before his lips and tongue began to work the skin just behind Wesley' ear, making the younger man shudder and moan softly.  "Any other questions, Wesley?"

"Um, I . . ." It took Wesley longer than he'd have liked to pull himself together, but he finally managed, turning to look at Giles.  "Why?"

"Why?"  Giles seemed surprised by that.

"Yes," Wesley began, rather breathlessly, looking back to his hands.  "You never seemed, uh, to see me, um, in-in any way beyond . . . Why would you want to . . . uh . . . Why?"

Giles was quiet for a moment before sighing.  "I find you attractive and it's not as sudden as you seem to think."  There was a hint of, not anger, but perhaps frustration in Giles' voice.

 _Great.  Now I've ruined it.  Stupid!_   Wesley cursed himself, biting his split lip and using the pain to hold back the beginning prickle of tears.  Those never helped anything, never changed anything.  Crying only got you punished.

"I," Giles continued, the frustration clearer now, "I don't know exactly how to explain.  You . . . normally, you're a prat."  Wesley flinched, closing his eyes hard.  "Or, at least you pretend to be.  Until last night, I didn't truly see the difference."

Wesley opened his eyes once again, looking toward Giles, but keeping his eyes well away from the other man's gaze, afraid of what he'd see.

"Wesley.  You try so hard to be the perfect Watcher, very uptight, but . . . last night," Giles' hand was moving on his thigh, rubbing lightly, absently, and Wesley wasn't sure Giles even knew he was doing it.  Wesley, however, was extremely aware of the small touch, having to force himself to concentrate on what Giles was saying as his cock swelled again.  "Last night, you weren't trying to be anything.  You were hurt, but you were yourself, which is a good deal more intriguing than you let on."

"Intriguing?"  Wesley asked, looking down to hide the silly smile the word put on his face.  "You find me intriguing?"  Giles chuckled again, and the hand that had once rested on the sofa back moved to play along Wesley' neck, tickling.

"Quite."  Giles moved in close again, his lips whispering along Wesley's cheek.  "Now, where were we?"

Wesley shivered, smile dropping from his face as his heart decided to trying and beat its way out of his chest.

 _This is happening.  This is_ real.  Wesley wasn't sure whether he was trying to convince himself or just reveling in the fact.  It was quite possibly a bit of both.

"I . . . I think somewhere around the, uh, the kissing of bruises and scrapes," _which I never thought I'd be almost glad to be covered in._

"Mmm, yes.  I think that's it."  Giles lips brushed his cheek again and Wesley gasped softly, his eyes falling shut once more.  Then those soft lips were on his, pressing him firmly back.  Wesley melted into the kiss, his muscles relaxing easily and with a good deal of relief.  Giles licked along Wesley’s lips and Wesley opened to him, letting himself be turned, be pressed back onto the arm of the couch.

Whether it was the painkillers or his euphoria, the pain was just a twinge in the back of his mind, easily ignored.  And for this?  He'd have gladly done it all over again.  Wesley wrapped his arms around Giles' neck, one hand tangling in the older man's hair.  He whimpered when Giles' tongue swept into his mouth, licking along his own.  The hands on his body weren't gentle, but were far from hurting.  They seemed to brand him, burning away the bruises, the failure, leaving only sensations that had him all but writhing.

"Oh, God, Giles," he panted, hands clutching at Giles' shoulders.

"Mmm, I like that you're eager," Giles murmured into the crook of Wesley's neck before biting softly at his skin.

Wesley arched into Giles' body, his cock rigid and desperate for friction.  The voice in his head, the one that always insisted he be proper, polite, distant was cast aside by Giles' words, Giles’ touch.  Then Giles pulled away and Wesley whimpered at the loss of contact, hands still clutching at Giles, trying to pull him back.

"Upstairs," Giles insisted, breaking through Wesley' daze with the hoarse edge of his voice.

Wesley nodded, getting to his feet and almost tripping as he stood.  Giles was there, one hand on the small of his back, guiding him toward the stairs.  Halfway there they were kissing again, Giles sucking Wesley's tongue into his mouth, licking at it.

Wesley didn't remember getting up the stairs, or rather, he chose to forget nearly tripping both Giles and himself.  He did remember getting to the bed though, Giles laying him down and crawling up his body, Giles' hard cock grinding into his own.

Wesley threw his head back into the pillows, crying out at the feel of it.  Never had anything felt so very good, so intense.  Jolts of pleasure ran along his nerves, every muscle jerking taut.  When Giles' mouth latched on to one bruised nipple, Wesley though he might die from the feeling.  It stung in such a good way.

Giles' hands were on his hips, holding him still as Giles pressed hard against him.  Then Giles was stripping him, undoing buttons with quick efficiency, tugging boxers and trousers down and off with urgent fingers.

Wesley gasped as his erection sprang free, slapping against his stomach.  He could feel the air brushing against the pre-cum, making him shiver.  Giles didn't return right away.  Wesley propped himself on his elbows and found his eyes roaming over Giles' body as Giles shucked his clothes.  Wesley' breath caught, eyes skimming from salt and pepper chest hair to strong thighs and then, bravely, to the erection that jutted from still-dark pubic hair.

He began to panic a little then.  While he'd imagined similar scenarios, the details had been sketchy.  Or, rather, practically nil and fairly unneeded to accomplish his goals at the time.  Now, his mind was providing him with any number of details.  Wesley swallowed hard, licking at his lips as Giles ran his fingers up one of Wesley' legs.

"I, uh--" the rest of the words, whatever they were because Wesley wasn’t at all sure, wouldn't come.  They caught in his chest, trapped by the pounding of his heart.

Giles smiled at him, the look in his eyes soft, doing things to Wesley that he'd have thought required a lot more touching.  Then Giles crawled over him again, holding his body away from Wesley's until their faces were even.

"Did you want something?"  The word 'want' was punctuated by a thrust of Giles' hips, their cocks meeting and sliding along one another.

"Oh, yes," Wesley breathed, his body shuddering, bowing to stay in contact as long as possible.  "Just, I've never--oh, God!"  The last was said as Giles lowered himself, straddling Wesley and pressing their cocks hard together.

"Shh.  Do you trust me?"  Giles' eyes were earnest, so close that they filled his vision.

"Y-yes."  Wesley nodded frantically, his breathing coming in gasps, body heaving with each inhalation.  "I want--want this.  Badly."

"I know," Giles whispered against his ear as he slipped to Wesley's side, hand stroking down Wesley' torso, making his muscles clench.  Wesley shivered, closing his eyes and groaning as Giles' calloused fingers pushed through pubic hair to wrap around his swollen shaft, stroking once, twice, before moving on.  Wesley groaned at the feel of Giles' fingertips dancing over his balls before brushing his thighs apart.

Wesley was breathless as Giles’ fingers caressed his thighs and then cupped his balls, rolling and squeezing gently.  Moaning, his body pulling tight, Wesley squeezed his eyes shut and bit hard on his lip.  The pain didn't ease the tightening, but it helped him control himself.

"Can't--so, close.  I'm--sorry, I--"

"Don't apologize, Wesley.  I want you hot; want you very, very ready."  Giles’ hand withdrew and Wesley found himself making little gasp-whimpers.  Then Giles was back and Wesley watched as Giles flipped open the lid of a tube.

Cool liquid poured over his heated skin, drawing gasps as it slid over his cock, down to his balls and lower, flowing into his crease and over his entrance.  Wesley moaned, spreading his legs wide, watching intently as Giles' stroked him, spreading the lube over his cock before sliding down to his perineum.

"Turn over."

Wesley nodded, groaning as he moved, bruises pressed into the bed.  It wasn't pain, as such, just a heightened awareness of his own skin as it tingled and throbbed.  Lying on his stomach, cock trapped between sheets and body, Wesley felt more exposed than he had before.

More lube, washing over his back and arse, making him aware of the brush of cool air against his skin, a huge contrast to the hot finger that slid into his crease, circling, probing.  Wesley went stiff; waiting for the pain he'd heard would come next.

"Relax, Wesley."  A hand kneaded his back, rubbing the lube into his skin and massaging muscles that nearly trembled with strain.  "Come up on your elbows and knees," Giles urged, stroking Wesley's flank as Wesley did as asked.  "That's it."

The hand that had been massaging skimmed from his back to his stomach, sliding to his cock.  Wesley thrust into the grip, unable to hold himself still as the fingers of Giles' other hand rubbed over his entrance, circling slowly, sending little pulses of shock to Wesley's twitching shaft.

A finger slipped inside him, easily after the first bit of resistance, but beginning a slow burn.  Wesley couldn't go stiff, couldn't tense up, not with that hand on his desperately swollen cock.  Whimpering, Wesley thrust his hips again, sliding forward into a slick hand and then back onto Giles' fingers.  "N-need, I . . . please.  More, p-please."

There was a chuckle from behind him, soft, sexy, and not at all mocking.  Then another finger pushed inside, stretching, ratcheting the burn up a notch.  Wesley was gasping for each breath now, all but fucking himself on Giles' fingers.  Giles changed the angle a little and suddenly there were fireworks in Wesley's head.

His cock jumped hard before Giles slipped his hand down, grasping tight at the base, staving off Wesley' orgasm even as he withdrew his fingers.  Wesley cried out in protest, so desperate for release he was ready to beg, ready to promise anything.

Then both Giles' hands were gone and Wesley found his face wet with frustrated tears. "Please.  God, Giles, please don't stop.  I'm sorry, I--"

"Shh, Wesley," Giles interrupted his apology, voice soft and soothing.  "I'm not stopping.  I promise I'm not stopping.  I wouldn't leave you like this.  I just need to open this blasted--there.  Just slipping on a condom."

Wesley' dropped his forehead to the pillows, letting Giles' assurances sweep over him.  Giles wasn't going away.  He wasn't stopping.  Wesley repeated that bit over and over to himself in the forever it seemed to take before he felt Giles' fingers spreading him open, the blunt head of Giles' cock against his entrance.  Wesley had begun to stiffen again, unsure, when Giles' hand fisted his cock, stroking gently as he pushed inside.

There was pain.  It hurt; felt as if someone where trying to split him open, and still there was a gnawing _want_ in his belly, his cock.  He throbbed with his need, but it hurt.  Wesley cried out, almost sobbing his frustration.

"Shh," Giles soothed him, stroking Wesley’s erection and stilling inside him.  "Push back against me, Wesley.  It'll feel better soon, I promise."

Wesley nodded.  No words could have made it past the lump in his throat.  Taking his courage in both hands, Wesley thrust back, spearing himself on Giles' cock.  The burn filled him for a moment, drowning out all else.  He choked on the pain, but rode it out, Giles' voice with him all the way, guiding him through the haze. 

The pain began to fade and the hand that stroked his cock picked up speed, the pleasure overwhelming the pain, helping to clear Wesley' mind.

Giles was inside him.

Giles was _inside_ him.

 _Giles_ was inside him.

The words kept battering at his mind, each repetition a revelation of its own as the other man pulled out slowly.  Wesley moaned, panting hard, throwing his head back.  It felt good, and felt even better when Giles sank in again, filling him.

"You’re so tight.  God, so good."  Giles' words sent hot little sparks skittering through his insides and Wesley knew he couldn't keep himself from coming for long.  The pain had receded to a dull ache that only seemed to heighten the pleasure and every stroke of his cock, every thrust of Giles' hips pushed him closer to the edge.

Wesley found himself begging, the word 'please' falling from his lips with every thrust and stroke until he couldn't speak any longer, could only moan.  The slap of skin against skin was the only sound, Giles pushing into him and pulling hard on his cock.

A slight shift in angle and Giles was brushing his prostate.  Wesley choked on a groan, pressing his hands against the wall to push back harder, to meet every thrust with equal strength.  Wesley's balls tightened suddenly, his cock pulsing once.  Then he shouted as he came, spattering Giles' hand and the bed with his release.  His channel clenched around Giles’ cock, Giles' hand on his hip digging in hard to keep him upright.  Giles thrust in hard one last time.  Wesley could feel Giles' body trembling as he came, but it was distant, lost in the rush of ecstasy that kept his muscles tight for what seemed like forever.

Then he was collapsing, no grip strong enough to keep him upright when his muscles were nothing but goo.  Giles' weight pressed him into the bed, but Wesley couldn't find it in him to complain.  He laid there, dazed and nearly liquid, trying to catch his breath for he couldn't say how long.

He let out a soft gasp when Giles pulled out of him.  Then the other man's weight shifted off, gone for only a moment before settling in next to him.  He snuggled closer to Giles' skin, closing his eyes and reveling in the moment.  He was just drifting off when Giles shook him gently.

"I wish we had time for a nap as well," Giles whispered against Wesley’s sweaty skin.  "At this point though, we have an hour to shower, shave, get you some clothes, and show up at the library.  Any later than that and the children will worry."

Wesley groaned, eyes snapping open.  There was a smile on Giles' face and Wesley knew he had to be scarlet with his blush.  The last thing he wanted was to face the children _now_.  

*****

The school didn't look any different.

Wesley thought it should, thought everything should look different, but nothing had changed.  He'd insisted that Giles drop him off at his apartment, that he'd take his own car to the school.  Giles had quirked an eyebrow at him and nodded.

They . . . he blushed just thinking about the shower they'd taken together, the way Giles' hands had moved over his body once again.  Had there been time, he was sure they'd have ended up . . .

No, he could think about that.  Thinking about that would turn him as red as a tomato.

Pushing through the library doors, Wesley found everything as it typically was.  Willow was there, leaning against Oz.  Xander stood behind the check-in desk, apparently having turned to snack food to relieve his boredom.  It seemed Buffy hadn't made it in yet.  Faith wouldn't be around until after lunchtime and . . . Dear God, what would he do when Ms. Chase arrived?  Giles was likely in his office because Wesley didn't see him anywhere else.

"What happened to you?"  Xander was the first to notice him and Wesley wished he could melt into the floor.  "Meet up with a girly vamp on the way home last night?"  Wesley was about to respond in kind when Giles stepped from his office.

"Someone broke into the school last night," Giles answered for him, never taking his eyes off the book he was reading as he made his way to the table.  "Wesley was rather badly beaten Xander, so please, some consideration?"

"What?"  Xander looked at Giles as if checking to be sure he hadn't grown a second head.  "And miss out on the chance to praise his Watcherly reflexes and fighting skill?"

"Yes, because we've never seen you beaten black and blue by upwards of three people, have we?"  Giles raised an eyebrow at the boy.  Xander snapped his mouth closed, his eyes widening.

"Uh, anyway," Oz piped in, "Willow thinks she found something."

Wesley forced himself to move into the library, toward the office, though he was sure he was practically glowing with the force of his blush.

"I did," Willow quickly agreed.  "I found a small, teeny, tiny reference to Ascension, but . . . I think it means to a throne."

Once in Giles' office, Wesley removed his coat and all but collapsed into the desk chair.  He was breathing too fast, his heart pounding.

_Oh, God, no.  I will not panic.  I will not panic._

"Wesley," Giles' voice proceeded him by only seconds.  "Are you anywhere near--" shutting the door behind him, Giles immediately changed topics.  "Are you all right?  It looks as if you're about to melt."

"I, uh, I'm--" there were so many words and phrases to choose from.  _Insane.  Scared.  Hurting.  Tired.  Panicking.  Lost.  Hoping._   The last was, of course, the worst.  "Confused," he finally decided on, laying his head in his hands.

Giles sat on the edge of his desk, hand reaching out to brush the side of his face.  Wesley looked up at the soft touch, surprised.  He wasn't sure exactly what Giles wanted from him and that put him on edge.

"What are you confused about?"  Giles' voice was soft, soothing, and just a little husky.  Wesley had never heard him speak that way, not even to the children.  Despite the panic clawing at his gut, he couldn't help but lean into the touch when Giles brushed his cheek a second time.

"I, uh . . . everything, at this point," he said with a snort, trying to make a joke of it.  Giles wasn't having it.

"Talk to me, Wesley."  Giles withdrew his hand a little before rubbing it lightly over a spot on Wesley's forehead, most likely a bruise.

"U-us?"

The word hurt.  What if there wasn't an 'us' for them to speak of?  What if it had just been a . . . moment, a thing that was never going to happen again and . . . Wesley could feel the panic rising.  It wasn't all related to--to that morning, but one thing led to another until he felt as if he couldn't breathe.

"Wesley?  Wesley?"  Giles' sounded worried, but Wesley couldn't find the air to reply.  The door opened.  Giles snatched his hand back as if he'd been burned, turning to whoever had come in.

"I need a paper sack," he snapped, but Wesley was beyond understanding what was going on around him.  Laying his head in his hands, he fought to breathe, but his mind kept throwing up images of waking up alone and cold on the floor in the stacks.  His heart was racing and his clothes felt too tight and--

"Wesley," Giles' voice again, softer.  "Here, breathe into this.  Put your head down, right, good."  Head almost between his knees, a paper sack held against his lips, Wesley began to calm.  However, he thought that had more to do with Giles' soothing voice and the way the man kept stroking his arm.

 _Lovely,_ he thought with a sigh.  _A panic attack in front of the children.  They're likely already snickering behind my back.  Not as if they won't do it to my face as soon as I show it.  They're probably all gathered around the door, watching._   Taking his courage in both hands, Wesley straightened, surprised to find himself and Giles alone in the office, the door firmly shut.

"Better?"  Giles was kneeling beside him, one hand on Wesley's arm, the other on his thigh.

"Um, y-yes.  I'm . . . sorry."

"Is it being in the library that did it?"  Giles stood, moving to lean against the desk.

"Partially," Wesley admitted, forcing himself to stand and straighten his clothing.

"What else?"

Wesley shook his head.  "It's nothing, just . . . everything."  Giles raised an eyebrow at that, waiting, apparently, for him to explain.

"Being here, the . . . the children, the confusion.  It's . . . everything."  Wesley was trying very hard not to meet Giles' gaze, fussing with his briefcase, taking out his translation notes and then fussing with them.

"You said you were confused," Giles reached out and brushed his hand along Wesley's arm.  "About us?"  Wesley nodded, still staring at the desk, waiting for Giles to tell him it had been a nice diversion, but he shouldn't expect anything further.

Giles leaned forward, pushing Wesley' head up with a finger to his chin.  Giles leaned in, pressing his mouth to Wesley's split lip, his fingers moving up to cup Wesley's cheek.  "Wesley, it's only natural to be a little confused at the beginning of a relationship.  We'll . . . we'll work it out."  Giles pulled away, giving him a small smile before turning and heading to the door.  "And I need that translation.  I think it's important," he said, opening and returning to the library proper.

Wesley stood staring after him for a moment, blinking rather owlishly.

 _Relationship?_   Grinning, though he tried to stop himself, Wesley turned back to his work.

Wesley managed to stay entrenched in the office until the children had gone; glad not to have to deal with them himself, and not to force Giles to deal with the snide remarks they were sure to make.  He finally ducked his head out around lunchtime.

Normally he brought something to eat at the desk while he worked, but as there hadn't been a lot of time that morning--and Wesley found he still couldn't think about that without blushing--he'd completely forgotten.

Giles glanced up from the book he was reading, giving Wesley a small smile.

"How's the translation coming along?"  Joining Giles, Wesley shrugged, shyly returning the smile.

"Uh, it's going slowly.  I can't seem to find some of my notes and . . . Well, we may have to see if the Council has a copy of the second book, as this one just cuts off."

Giles' forehead wrinkled.  "Are you certain?  As far as I remember there is no second book."

"I rather think there must be, though now that you mention it . . ." Wesley stood, eyebrows drawing together as he cast his mind back.  It had been years since he'd studied the works of Trentchin, not since his first years at the academy.  Turning, he went back to the office with Giles on his heels.

Picking up the book, he examined it closely and then flipped to the last page.  He squinted at the binding before handing it over to Giles.  "It, uh, pages have been cut out.  I--I'm sorry, I . . . didn't notice."  Wesley sighed, putting a hand to his forehead and rubbing against a building headache.

"Are you all right?"  Giles set the book aside with a frown, lifting a hand to Wesley's cheek.  Giles' thumb moved over his skin and Wesley felt himself relaxing a bit, just from that soft touch.

He didn't know what was happening to him.  He'd woken up in some other dimension or . . . Wesley pushed those thoughts away, forcibly.  They had other things than his libido and Giles' touching him to think about now.  "Just a bit embarrassed," Wesley said.  "I should have realized."

"You did," Giles replied and Wesley could feel him shifting closer.  Wesley's breathing picked up and he opened his eyes slowly to find Giles right in front of him, studying his face with a frown.

 _The bruises_ , Wesley suddenly remembered, lifting his face from Giles' hand and looking away.

"Was that one of the books that was out last night?"  Even as Giles' asked, he returned his hand to Wesley' cheek, moving so that he stood in Wesley's line of sight again.

"Uh, y-yes.  I was . . ." Wesley looked up as a thought struck him, meeting Giles' eyes.  "You think it was the same people who . . ." He couldn't say it, was still too ashamed at being caught unaware, leaving himself so vulnerable.  Instead, he motioned to his face, eyes flicking away from Giles'.

"Seems likely," Giles answered, though he sounded a bit distracted.  Then his thumb was moving again, brushing so softly over the bruises that the touch didn't hurt at all.

"We'll, uh, need to-to find out what, uh," Wesley couldn't get himself to think straight.  His breathing was at it again, faster, shallower.  He couldn't help but glance back at Giles only to find Giles giving him a strange little half-smile.

"I have another copy at home," Giles whispered before leaning in, his lips brushing against Wesley's.  Wesley returned the kiss eagerly, rubbing his mouth along Giles', his hands curling along Giles' shoulders when Giles' hands settled on his hips.  Giles made a little moaning sound and Wesley felt a flash of pride that it was because of him.  Then there was a warm, wet, tongue darting along his mouth.  Wesley parted his lips, welcoming the soft licks, feeling himself relax against Giles.

"Whoa," came Faith's voice from the office doorway.

Wesley froze, his face quickly heating to a hitherto unknown shade of red.  Giles, on the other hand, merely pulled away and cleared his throat as he turned to look at the Slayer.  The move effectively blocked sight of Wesley as he composed himself.

"Yes?"  Giles asked, as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had been taking place just moments before.

Wesley, having put himself as together as he was going to get, stepped from behind Giles.  He wasn't about to use the older man as a shield.  Especially not if they were going to be . . . What?  A couple?  Lovers?  Giles said a relationship, but . . . what did that mean exactly?  Brushing aside the thought, Wesley did his best not to blush even further and addressed Faith.

"You're here to report about last night's patrol?"

"Uh, well, sorta.  I didn't mean to interrupt you guys.  I could--"

"Faith," both Giles and Wesley said together; Giles exasperated, Wesley rather embarrassed.

"Okay, I just . . . kinda needed to talk to you guys, about--about Buffy."

"She didn't show up this morning.  Is she all right?"  Giles was immediately at attention, taking a step toward Faith.

"She's not hurt, but there was a . . . that guy, Finch, in that alley?  We thought he was a v-vampire and . . . Buffy . . . Buffy's the one that--"

"Oh, God," Wesley breathed, casting a glance at Giles to see his expression had grown stormy.

"I tried to tell her that we should talk to you guys, but she's, like, in denial or something."

His eyes turning back to Faith, Wesley realized that there was something not right with this scenario.  Faith's tone was all wrong, as were her posture and the way her eyes shifted, the way her mouth quirked.  He was almost certain she was lying.

"Giles?" Buffy's voice called from the library proper.

Giles stepped around Faith, out of his office, "Buffy."  Wesley fidgeted, wanting to interrupt, to make certain Giles knew that Faith wasn't telling the truth, but . . . he didn't know how, not without letting Faith in on it.

"Uh. . . I don't really know how to say this, so I'm-I'm. . . I'm just gonna say it.  I know I've kept things from you before, but--" Buffy's eyes flicked to Faith as she too stepped out.  "--But, um, but I-I've been blowing off my classes.  You know, in-in the sense of not attending.  And, uh. . ."

"It's okay, Buffy.  I told 'em," Faith said, not quite able to meet Buffy's eyes.

"You told him?"  Buffy's surprise was real, but Wesley could hear that it didn’t contain any of the anger or worry it should have, were Faith's story true.  

"I had to.  He had to know what you did," Faith said.  

"What I did?  Giles, no.  Th-That's just not what happened!" 

"I don't want to hear it, Buffy."  Giles sounded angry and, for a moment, Wesley was going to step in.  Then he realized what Giles was doing, or at least what he hoped Giles was doing.  The man was not blind.  He had to have seen what was obvious to anyone who knew how to look.

"No!  It--"

"I don't want to hear any more lies."  Giles snapped, his tone so hard Wesley would have flinched had he not known what was going on.  

"You can't be serious!"  Buffy shouted at Faith.  "You're setting me up?" 

"Get in my office, now.  Faith, I'll talk to you in the morning.  

"Giles, please, you have to--" Buffy sounded frantic and Wesley wished he could say something to ease things.  Shifting in his place, he kept quiet, hoping Faith would leave soon.

"Now," Giles barked.  

"Um . . . sorry," Faith mumbled before walking away.

"Giles, I didn't do this," Buffy was saying as she entered the office.  She stopped dead at the sight of Wesley, her eyes widening.  Then, apparently dismissing him as unimportant at the moment--for which Wesley could hardly blame her--she turned to Giles.  "Faith's--"

"--lying," all three of them said together.  Wesley warmed at the approving look Giles sent him, ducking his head so that Buffy wouldn't see the grin he admonished himself for having.  This was hardly the time after all.


	3. Chapter 3

The library was near to silent, quieter than Wesley had ever heard with the children present.  Even Willow and Xander were speechless, absorbing the news.

"So," Xander finally said, "uh, what do we do about this?"

Wesley cleared his throat, licking his lips before he began.  "May I suggest we call the Council?  This isn't the first time something like this has happened, there are . . . procedures to be followed."

"This has happened before?"  Xander leaned forward, his eyes on Wesley.  Wesley forced away his nervousness, determined not to give Xander that satisfaction.

"Yes," Giles answered from his place by the office door.  Wesley heard Giles' footsteps, and then felt the heat from Giles' body as he settled himself on the table not far away.  "Uh, Slayers being on the front lines, it has, well, it's happened in the past."

"It was quick," Buffy supplied, "I, I only realized just, a second or so before . . ."

"Yes, exactly," Giles removed his glasses, polishing them and Wesley had to force his eyes away from Giles' fingers as his mind conjured the feel of them against his skin.

 _Stop it!_   He ordered himself, turning his gaze first to the table and then to the others.

"However," Giles continued, "I don't believe that the Council is the best option."  Wesley opened his mouth to disagree, but Giles quickly continued.  "It's only that Faith is in complete denial and . . . I don't think such a confrontational approach is necessarily going to help her.  We need her to know she can trust us, come to us, and calling the Council--"

"Will seem as if we're abandoning her, handing her off to be someone else's problem," Wesley nodded, conceding the point, for once, gracefully.  He might not have, under other circumstances, but Giles was taking the time to listen, to explain his feelings on the matter and . . . well, perhaps Wesley was more disposed to listen than he would have been just a few days ago.

 _Is this relationship clouding my perceptions?_   The thought worried him greatly.  His admiration of Giles had only grown in the past few days, especially once he had seen a side to Giles other than the sarcastic wit so often pitted against him.  Or, rather, now that he had seen it in more than mere glimpses aimed at the children.  The thought of losing their fragile relationship made him feel jittery and out of focus.  Still, his primary duty lay with the Council.  Would he be betraying that duty by concurring with Giles' plans?

Wesley tried to detach himself from the situation, tried to decide what he would do were he not . . . in his current position.  Did Giles have a point?  Yes.  Was he agreeing with the point or agreeing with Giles simply because he was Giles?  No, Wesley decided.  He did believe that Faith would feel handed off, but . . . did that matter?

Wesley's eyes travel to Buffy, considering.  Before he'd come to Sunnydale, he knew his immediate answer would be that it didn't.  That Faith was a weapon, as was Buffy.  But he'd read Giles' journals, he'd seen her laughing with her friends.  He'd seen Faith laugh once or twice and he sometimes forgot to think of them as Slayers at all.  Was that his problem or was that the way it should be?  Giles obviously saw something more in Buffy than the weapon the Council called her.

 _Does he see more in me than the Watcher?_   The question struck him hard and Wesley blinked, considering.  He was a Watcher, all his life had known he would be.  There was no other way than his father's way, of course, but was he only a Watcher?  He snapped back to the conversation just as Xander was suggesting he should go to speak with Faith.

"Well, I can be the one . . . on her one."  Xander paused, apparently realizing how that had sounded.  "Let's rephrase.  I think she might listen to me.  We kind of have, um, a connection."

"A connection?  Why would you think that?"  Buffy shook her head, looking askance at the young man.  Wesley, realizing what the boy was saying, merely looked away, his mind heading off in another direction.

Shouldn't he be the one to talk to Faith?  As little as she and Buffy seemed to think of it, he was her Watcher.  He was willing to cede Buffy to Giles.  The two of them . . . he was beginning to understand that he could never take Giles' place there, but Faith needed a Watcher, he needed a Slayer.  Perhaps he could even begin to forge a bond with the young woman similar to the one Giles had created with Buffy.

He smiled a little at that, daydreams filling his head before the Council's view of such an idea came crashing in to ruin them.  They'd sacked Giles for the bond he and Buffy shared, but . . . perhaps they were wrong in having done so.  That didn't change much.  They would do the same to him in a moment and then where would he be?

His heart pounded hard at the thought, the disapproval he knew he'd receive from his father making him swallow hard against the lump in his throat.  Then Giles' hand brushed his shoulder, quite by accident he was sure, but Wesley felt the tension in his stomach ease at once.

He was more than a Watcher.

"Then why would you . . ." Buffy paused, seeming to have finally caught on, "Oh."

"Oh!"  Giles echoed, polishing his glasses with a vaguely disturbed expression.

All eyes turned to Willow who shrugged.  "I don't need to say 'oh'.  I got it before.  They slept together." 

"Fine, fine, let's--let's move on," Giles insisted and Wesley had to smile a little at seeing that flustered expression.

"All right.  Look, I-I know that you mean well, Xander, but, um, I-I just don't see Faith opening up to you."  Buffy looked to Xander, not unkindly, saying, "She doesn't take the guys that she has a . . .'connection' with very seriously.  And they're, they're kind of a big joke to her.  No offense."

"Oh, no.  I mean, why would I be offended by that?" Xander quipped, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

Giles stepped in, trying to turn the topic back to helping Faith, where it belonged.  While Giles’ attention was elsewhere, Wesley made up his mind.  He wanted to talk to Faith, wanted to get through to her and . . . he wanted to do this right, do something right.  Slipping quietly away, Wesley soon found himself before Faith's motel room door.

It was almost as if someone else's hand rose to knock.  His heart was pounding.  This was his chance to show Giles, and the others, that he wasn't some prat who always screwed things up.  He could help; he could be useful.

The door opened and Faith peered out, her eyebrows drawn together.

"Wesley?  What do _you_ want?"

"I, uh, I came to-to talk to you, about . . . what happened.  I, uh, I thought you might need someone to talk to about it."  Wesley realized he was all but babbling, but his mind suddenly deserted him.  He had no idea how to broach the topic, really.  How did one even begin to explain something like this?

Faith snorted, stepping back to let him inside.  "So, why aren't you talking to Buffy then?  I guess Giles got that assignment?"

"No, uh, there was no assignment.  I, uh, Faith . . ." Wesley wasn't sure what to do with himself.  He stood, hands at his side, trying to come up with the right words.  There had to be right words.  Giles would know what to say and . . . why had he ever thought he'd be able to do this?  "I know that it was an accident.  I understand how quickly things happened and--"

"So?  Again, I say why aren't you talking to B?  She's the one who 'accidentally'. . ." Faith raised her hands, making little quotation marks in the air, ". . . offed a guy.  Me?  I've got nothing to talk about."

She pulled herself up to sit her chest of drawers, giving Wesley a bored look as she fidgeted with her fingernails.

"I know that isn't true," Wesley said, trying to get through to her, to let her know that he was on her side and wanted to help.  "I know that it was you, Faith and I'm willing to do all I can to help you, but--"

"Is this the part where you say, 'if you don't tell anyone that I'm screwing the old guy'?  'Cause, frankly, I think Buffy and the others oughta know that."  There was a nasty smirk on the girl's face as she slipped from the chest of drawers, crossing her arms over her stomach.

"What?"  Wesley blinked at her, his voice a little more shrill than he'd have liked.

"Well, he is kinda like their dad and all.  Don't you think they should know that kinda stuff?  How do you think they'd react, Wesley?  Huh?  How do you think Buffy and Willow and Xander would react?"

"You're trying to put me on the defensive," Wesley said, keeping his voice calm, measured, unwilling to give away any more than he already had.  "It isn't going to work, Faith.  Please, I'm on your side and--"

"No one is 'on my side'," she shouted and then clenched her jaw.  Wesley blinked, glad when she seemed to calm down.  "I don’t have a side here.  Can't you get that through your head?"

"You have to admit that you made a mistake, Faith.  It happens.  It's horrible and it's hard and it feels like the end of the world--"

"What the hell would you know about it, you prissy little momma's boy?  How would you know what the hell anything's like?"  Faith advanced on him, but Wesley refused to back down, holding his stance even when she got right in his face.

"Faith, I can help you, if you'll let me.  The Council--"

"What?  You called those freaks on me?"

"No!  No, I want to forge a connection with you, like--"

"A connection?"  Faith raised an eyebrow, snorting.  "And here I thought you weren't batting for that team.  What, the old man can't keep up with you?"

"What?  Good Lord, Faith, that's not wh-what I meant!"

"Uh-huh, sure it isn't."  She took another step closer and this time Wesley did step back, trying to put some distance between them, but Faith kept coming and Wesley hit the wall.  He swallowed hard, realizing he'd put himself in the room with an angry Slayer, far stronger and quicker than he'd ever be.

Faith pressed against him, her eyes hard as stone.

"You don't want to do this, Faith, neither of us wants this.  I just want to help you face this thing and you can, I know you're scared, but you--"

"Shut up!  God!  Is talking all you ever do?  Just . . . just shut up!"  Faith pressed him hard, her jaw clenching tight.  Wesley found himself balling his hands into fists, still trying to get through to Faith.

"I only want to help--"

"Oh, I bet I know," Faith interrupted, that nasty little smirk on her face again.  "Old Rupes can't give you what want, right?  Need something a little . . . harder?  Is that where the bruises came from, Wes?"  Faith laughed her own joke, but Wesley ignored it, his fists shaking now.

"Faith, please, just back up and we can--"

Then Faith's hands were around his throat, pressing into bruises left there just the other night.  Wesley wanted to shout at her to stop, but he couldn't get the air into lungs and her hands were so bloody strong.

"Like this, Wes?  Giles not up to this?"  She was saying, her voice sharp and hard with anger.  Wesley thrashed, manicured nails too short to do much damage as he clawed at her hands and wrists, trying to get them away, get some space so that he could breathe.  Faith squeezed harder, her words no longer breaking into his mind as it was filled with only one thought.  The need to breathe blotted out all else and Wesley struggled, panic keeping him fighting even as he could feel himself weakening.  The world began to go black around the edges.

He was barely conscious when the door flew open, slamming into Faith and knocking her back.  He tried to stand, blinking away the black sparks that had invaded his vision as Angel and Giles came into the room.

Then Faith was up and shouting, her words incoherent to Wesley' ringing ears.  Giles came to him, giving him an arm to lean against.

"Come along, I think Angel can handle this," Giles said, voice calm and soothing even through the bells clattering in Wesley' ears.  "Let's get you out of here."

There was shouting behind them, the sound of something breaking, but Wesley was too busy sucking in air through his aching throat to care very much.  Giles helped him into the car and it felt so familiar that Wesley wanted to weep.  He'd done it again; screwed up again.  But Giles was also there again, hands gentle as he buckled the seat belt.

"I'm--I'm fine," he croaked when Giles slid into the driver's seat.

"You're not fine," and Giles' voice sounded strained and angry.  He'd known the older man would be cross and he could hardly blame him.  This had to be the most idiotic thing he'd done to date.

"I know . . . it was . . . stupid . . . I'm . . . sorry to make you have to . . . help me again.  I just . . . I wanted to help, to prove I'm not . . . useless."

Giles' hand froze on the keys and he turned to look at Wesley.  "She hurt you.  It's not your fault, Wesley.  I--I understand why you did it.  You're her Watcher, you feel responsible for her.  That's the way it's supposed to be.  I only wish you'd asked me to come along."

Wesley gaped at Giles as he started the car, trying to process all those words and come up with something that made sense.

"You're . . . not angry?"

"At you?  No.  But Faith is lucky it's Angel in there."

Wesley opened his mouth to reply but what could he say to that?  He slipped lower in his seat, forehead furrowing as he tried to work out what all this meant.  Giles wasn't angry with him.  He wished Wesley had thought to ask him along.  Faith was lucky to be fighting a vampire with over two hundred years of life experience. . .

It didn't add up in his oxygen-deprived brain, but it made him feel warm inside.

Wesley barely noticed when they arrived at Giles' flat instead of his own.  His mind was churning over the encounter with Faith, looking for any opening, any opportunity he had missed.  It had been there, he knew it.  If he could just find it . . .

"Wesley?"  Giles' voice called him from his thoughts and he looked over to the older man, realizing the car had been stopped for a few moments.

"Oh!  I'm-I'm sorry, I was, uh, thinking.  Th-thank you for the-the ride.  I--" When he went to open the door he realized where they were, and he looked to Giles, confused.

"I can take you to your flat, if you'd rather."  Giles' voice was soft, soothing and Wesley didn't know what to say.  He didn't want to go to his place.  It was bare and lonely, and Giles' flat was so much more inviting and warm, but he'd have to go home eventually.  Giles would surely rather not look at him tonight and the last thing he wanted to do was wear his welcome thin--

"That's it."  Giles' voice once again interrupted his thoughts as Giles smiled gently, reaching a hand out to brush over Wesley's cheek.  "If that simple question takes so much thought, you're not to be alone tonight."

Wesley smiled a little at that, ducking his head.  Giles had asked him to stay.  Well, more insisted really, which made him feel less like an imposition and more . . . wanted.

Shaking his head at his own silliness, Wesley undid his seat belt and got out of the car.  Neither he nor Giles spoke until they were inside.  Wesley wanted to ask Giles a few questions, but he didn't even know how to begin.  Surprised when Giles handed him a glass of Scotch, Wesley took it automatically, staring into the tumbler.

"You looked as if you could use it," Giles explained, relaxing back onto the couch beside Wesley with a glass of his own.  He laid one arm along the sofa-back and fixed Wesley with a direct gaze, waiting, as if he knew Wesley wanted to say something but couldn't find words.

"I . . . I wondered if, uh, if you could . . . Help me to understand how I . . . Help me pin down what mistakes I made?"  Wesley looked into the glass rather than at Giles, uncertain as to whether he wanted to see the other man's expression.

"Certainly, if you really feel you made a mistake."

"I had to have done," Wesley insisted, taking a small drink of the Scotch and wincing as it slid down his throat.  Putting it on the coffee table, he stood, pacing the small area between bookcases and couch.  "She ended up choking me, after all."

"That doesn't mean you made a mistake.  It's possible that the same would have happened to anyone.  Why don't you tell me about it?"  Giles kicked off his shoes, crossing his legs at the ankle, though his gaze was always on Wesley.  Wesley could feel the weight of it, even when he wasn't looking.

Sighing as he collapsed back onto the couch and taking what he hoped would be a fortifying gulp of the Scotch, Wesley explained.  He went over it all from the moment he'd knocked on Faith's door to the moment her hands wrapped around his throat, flinching when he repeated what she'd said about Giles.

"Hmm, so she was defensive?  Why is that, do you think?"  Giles' quiet question had Wesley turning to him, considering.

"Well, she-she was obviously frightened.  The more I said that I wanted to help, the angrier she became.  I--I don't understand.  Shouldn't it have felt good to know that someone was on her side, willing to help?"

"Perhaps Faith didn't like the thought that she needed help.  You're right, she's scared, but does she strike you as the type to admit that?"

Wesley opened his mouth and then snapped it shut.  He leaned back into the couch, his mind filled with so many thoughts he barely noticed when Giles' hand stroked his neck.  He felt comfortable--relaxed, even--as he considered his mistakes.  Giles wasn't getting angry or shouting at him.  It was nice to have someone listening.

While Wesley knew that, in Faith's situation, he'd have been grateful to have someone willing to help him, he could also understand the fear of needing that help.  The fear of others seeing his weaknesses and, perhaps, using them against him.  It hadn't been long ago-- _God, has it only been two days?_ \--that such a fear haunted his every step.  It still did around most people.

Shifting, suddenly uncomfortable, Wesley cast a sidelong glance at Giles.  The man stared contemplatively at the wall, giving Wesley as much privacy with his own thoughts as he was able to without moving away.  Wesley noticed the brush of fingers over his neck and the touch, so casual and unplanned, made him smile.

"No," he finally answered on a sigh.  "She must feel quite helpless and she doesn't want anyone to see that.  She's afraid that, if people see how off balance and out of her depth she is, they'll use it to hurt her."  He sat bolt upright at that, turning to Giles.  "Angel won't hurt her, will he?"

Giles' gaze snapped back to him and a small smile touched his lips.  He shook his head before his eyes flicked down to Wesley's throat.  Wesley' hand rose, touching the new bruises there with a sigh.

"Strangled twice in two days.  That's a new record even for me," his laugh was bitter, but he didn't understand the flash of anger that ripped through Giles' eyes.  Confused, he looked away, trying to figure out what he'd said.

"You've been strangled before?"  The question was soft in volume, but hard in tone.

Realizing what he'd let slip, Wesley forced a shrug.  "Not as such, but . . . things happen," he whispered, pushing away memories of a hand pulling at the back of his collar, tugging him toward the door beneath the stairs, the memories of his shirt buttons digging into his throat.  He once again stared into his Scotch.  Abruptly, he put it back on the coffee table, swallowing hard.  He'd had too much of it already if he hadn't thought before saying that.

There was silence between them for a moment.  Wesley was just beginning to feel agitated when Giles shifted closer, his arm circling Wesley's shoulders and pulling him against his side.  Wesley went willingly, allowing Giles to pull him in.  It felt good, but he was afraid to speak in case his words broke it all apart, or he said something else he shouldn't.

"Yes," Giles finally said, taking a sip of his Scotch.  "They do.  Hopefully, eventually, to the people who deserve it."

Unsure what Giles meant by that, Wesley scooted a little closer, hoping Giles wouldn't think him childish for seeking out the warmth and comfort.  He laid his head on Giles' arm and let his thoughts wander.

They returned to Faith, of course.  His mistake lay in his belief that his help would be wanted, or rather, that any help at all would be wanted.  Not that he shouldn't have approached her, but perhaps he should have done it differently somehow.

"Why did you sneak away?" Giles' asked, once again pulling Wesley from his thoughts.

"What?"  Turning, he found Giles' face quite close to his own and had to force his eyes to stay on Giles' rather than let them slip down to the man's lips.

"From the library.  Why did you sneak away to speak to Faith?  Without even a word."  He had to be imagining the hurt in Giles' voice.  Still, the thought that his actions had somehow hurt Giles made him feel even worse.  Without his realizing it, his hand stole out to stroke Giles' chest, as if he could soothe his mistake away.

"I--I didn't want you to talk me out of it," Wesley eventually admitted.  "I wanted to do something--" _right_ "--to help."

"I wish you'd have talked to me," Giles' voice made his chest rumble and Wesley finally realized where he'd put his hand.  He fixed his eyes on it, heart picking up speed.  When he made an abortive attempt to move it, Giles settled his own hand over it, pressing lightly.  "I understand why you went.  I might even have done the same in your place, but--"

Wesley snorted, watching with a strange detachment as he intertwined his fingers with Giles'.  "No, you wouldn't have," he said with a sigh.  "You understood that that approach wouldn't work.  It never even occurred to me."

"You're new to this.  All of it.  Being a Watcher is not something one learns from books and rules.  You're only now learning how," Giles said and Wesley could feel him shrug, as if it was nothing, as if it didn't matter.

Wesley wasn't sure how to feel about that.  He'd made a mistake, several apparently, and yet Giles was treating it as if nothing had gone wrong.  Why wasn't the man angry?  Why wasn't he telling Wesley what he'd done wrong?  Giles should be angry, should be telling Wesley how to make things right.

The whole thing confused him.

"Yes, new and apparently rather bad at it," he sighed, closing his eyes and slowly, almost guiltily, letting his head slide onto Giles' shoulder.  He stayed tense and still, ready to move should Giles laugh or comment.  Instead, Giles' arm slid so that it lay along his shoulders and arm.

"No, just new.  You'll get better, if you stop trying to be perfect."

Wesley snorted at that statement, pulling away to look Giles in the eyes.  "You do realize that you just told me to stop trying so that I would get better, yes?"  Giles chuckled, but there was no derision in the sound.

"No," he said, hand moving up and down Wesley' arm in a way that both soothed and excited the younger man.  "I told you to stop trying to be perfect.  Wesley, you're human.  Striving for perfection is setting yourself up for failure.  It makes every mistake seem larger than it is.  Also," he said with what Wesley could only call a warm smile, "it turns you into an utter git."

Furrowing his brow over an insult delivered in such a kind voice, Wesley tilted his head, trying to understand.  "You say that, but you don't seem . . ." Angry wasn't what he meant at all, but he couldn't come up with another word that suited better.

"Put off?" Giles suggested with a small smile, continuing when Wesley nodded.  "Perhaps, that's because I have a better understanding now of why you sometimes act that way.  And I've come to see that you don't act that way all of the time.  Sometimes," Giles said leaning in closer in a way that made Wesley's breathing speed up, "you're even very pleasant."

The kiss didn't take him by surprise, but that hardly mattered when Giles' lips pressed against his own, rubbing softly.  Wesley moaned at the feel, needing no coaxing to part them, to let Giles' tongue sweep away whatever words he might have spoken.  His hands automatically sought out Giles' body, one reaching to tangle in his hair while the other slid from chest to hip.

Giles' hands were on Wesley as well, one squeezing gently at the back of his neck and the other sliding over his thigh, working toward--Wesley's thought spun away as Giles' hand cupped his burgeoning erection, thumb sliding over the zip of his trousers.  His groan was muffled by Giles' mouth, and Wesley felt himself relaxing completely.

Giles pulled away, humming against his lips.  "You feel so good in my hand, Wesley.  Hardening under my fingers."

Swallowing hard, trying to keep his composure as Giles stroked more firmly, Wesley let his head fall against the sofa back.  His hips arched to push his now straining cock into Giles' hand and he couldn't help the moan that broke from his lips.

"Does that feel good?"  There was a thread of amusement in Giles' voice, but Wesley didn't mind, didn't care about much of anything as long as the other man kept doing what he was doing.

"God, yes," Wesley found himself answering, his hands scrabbling at the couch, searching for something to anchor him.

"You’re so beautiful like this, arching, body taut."  The words seemed to run straight to his cock, making it twitch in Giles' hand.  Wesley whimpered when the touch changed, when the pressure left.  His body sagged into the cushions and he looked at Giles with pleading eyes.

"Just unzipping you," Giles soothed, his hands matching his words.  "Want to touch your skin, so warm and smooth, feel you pulse hot and heavy in my grip."

Sighing, Wesley slid a hand over Giles' thigh, reaching for Giles obviously hard cock.  Giles rose up on his knees to make it easier, his hand nudging inside of Wesley's boxers to grip his erection even as Wesley' fingers closed over his.

Wesley relished Giles' drawn out groan, knowing he'd caused it, that it was for him.  Spreading his legs wider to give Giles better access, Wesley tried to work Giles' zip one handed.  Giles' thumb swiped over the head of his cock, spreading pre-cum to ease the strokes and Wesley whimpered, his fingers fumbling, but he finally pulled the zip down.  He thrust his hand inside just as Giles' lips claimed his, tongue pushing inside.

Giles moaned into his mouth and Wesley felt his balls begin to rise, the thought of his hand pulling such sounds from Giles almost sending him over the edge.  He pulled away from the kiss reluctantly, trying to draw in enough breath to speak.

"I . . . I'm so close, Giles, I--"

"My name is Rupert," the man whispered against his ear, pulling his hand free of Wesley's boxers.

"Rupert," Wesley smiled, idiotically, he was sure, but he felt as if Giles had just told him a secret.  No one else, so far as Wesley knew, got to call Giles that.  Just him.  He was fairly sure Giles--Rupert--had told him that before, but this . . . this was different somehow.

Pulling his hand away from Rupert's erection, Wesley felt suddenly shy, unsure what to do next.  Rupert was kissing along his neck and it felt good, really good, but Wesley was still so close to the edge.  He wanted . . . he wanted to come, but wasn't sure how to ask for that, was worried that Giles might think him ungrateful.  Rupert was talking to him again and Wesley had to pull his mind together to understand the words.

"I want to taste you, Wesley.  Can I do that?  Suck your cock into my mouth and watch you writhe until you can't take it any longer?"

Wesley nodded frantically, whimpering as Rupert worked the buttons on his shirt, licking at each bit of exposed skin.  Giles bit and sucked on one nipple and Wesley gasped, hands digging into the couch once again.  Then Giles was sliding lower, his lips playing over stomach muscles and hair until his tongue slid under the elastic of Wesley' boxers.  Unable to keep himself from bucking, Wesley tried to apologize, only to have the words cut off when Rupert mouthed his cock through the fabric.

Giles was tugging off Wesley's trousers and Wesley barely had the presence of mind to lift his hips to make things easier.  He sat forward, pulling his shirt off while Giles bent to remove his shoes.  Naked from the waist up, and with Giles taking care of the rest, Wesley ran his hands over Rupert's back, enjoying the feel of him through the slightly rough fabric of his shirt.

Standing, Rupert began undressing himself, his eyes skimming over Wesley's body in a way that made Wesley feel less vulnerable and far more erotic.  Especially when Rupert's eyes met his own and Wesley could see the heat there.

Swallowing his nervousness, telling himself to be bold, Wesley fisted his own cock, stroking slowly as he watched Rupert undress.  The process seemed to go faster with Giles' eyes riveted to Wesley' hand.  He could actually see Giles' breathing pick up and that sent another jolt through him.  Wesley had to stop, as good as it felt, knowing he'd come otherwise.  He didn't want to do that yet, not until . . .

The thought of Rupert's mouth on him made his cock twitch again and Wesley whined a little.  There was no way he was going to last and then he'd disappoint Rupert and . . . that did it.  The anxiety pushed him farther from orgasm, though not far enough for his peace of mind.  An idea struck him then and Wesley bit his lip, wondering if he could actually . . .

Looking up at Rupert, who had just taken his shirt off, Wesley swallowed hard.  "I want to t-taste you f-first."  Rupert raised an eyebrow at that, sitting beside Wesley and running a hand over his thigh.  Wesley sighed, still nervous, waiting to see what Rupert's reaction would be.

"All right," Rupert agreed against his cheek, kissing softly along his jaw line.  "Always tell me what you want, Wesley."

Nodding, Wesley licked his lips as Rupert lay back, drawing Wesley with him.  Heart thudding in his ears, Wesley started by kissing Rupert's chest, letting the hair tickle his face as he nuzzled close and breathed in Rupert's scent.  Curious, he moved a little to the right, letting his tongue dart out against Rupert's nipple.

Rupert groaned loudly, arching up.  Smiling, only a little shyly, Wesley did it again, enjoying the way the little nub grew tight under his tongue.  He moved to the other, using the same slight, delicate touches until it was hard and then rubbing his lips against it.

Rupert was clutching the sofa cushions and Wesley felt like laughing with the joy of it.  Swallowing what he was sure were inappropriate giggles, he licked lower, watching as Rupert's stomach muscles jumped at the contact.  Thrilled that he was having such an effect, he boldly slid lower.  His own cock forgotten, he contemplated Rupert's, unsure how to begin.

Taking a deep breath, his eyes flicking up to Rupert's, he found the other man watching him, chest heaving.  Wesley flicked out his tongue, touching it to Rupert's foreskin and watching as Rupert's eyes fluttered shut.  He licked, more firmly, from the head to the base, burying his nose in Rupert's hair, inhaling deeply.  The scent was the same, but more pronounced, more . . . Wesley didn't even have words.

He licked lower, watching Rupert's cock twitch when Wesley's tongue touched his balls.  Returning to the head, he watched as a pool of pre-cum formed, trickling down the side.  On impulse, he darted in, licking at it, following it back to the head.

"Good bloody Lord," Rupert groaned, watching him once again.

Swallowing hard, Wesley licked his lips, unconsciously chasing the last drops of Rupert's flavor.  Taking Rupert's dick in his hand, he parted his lips and pressed the hard shaft into his mouth, pushing the foreskin back as he did.  Lapping at the underside of the head, he sucked hard and almost gagged when Rupert bucked his hips.

"S-sorry," Rupert said immediately, hand brushing over Wesley's face.  Wesley got himself under control, and then smiled a little, raising one eyebrow.

"Couldn't help yourself?"

Rupert grinned, shaking his head slowly, eyes slipping down to Wesley' mouth.  Warmed by the admission, Wesley leaned forward, again taking Rupert into his mouth.  He could feel the tension in Giles.  Giles’ legs trembled under Wesley's hand, his cock twitching against Wesley' palate.  Knowing he could do that to Rupert, have such an effect on the staid man, made Wesley's own cock twitch.  He ignored it, sucking once again, slowly pushing to take in as much of Rupert's cock as he could before withdrawing to lap at the head once more.

Groaning between pants, Rupert clutched the sofa, his body tense as a loaded crossbow.  Daring a bit further, Wesley slid a hand to Rupert's balls, rubbing gently against them, feeling them tighten under his hand.

"I'm, Wesley, I'm almost there," Rupert panted out, his fingers sliding into Wesley's hair.  His nod drew another groan from Rupert and Wesley began stroking Giles' shaft with his hand, sucking at the head of Rupert's cock while he bobbed his head.

"Yes . . . oh, God . . . Wesley, I--" the words turned in a shout as Rupert's body seemed to contract under him and Rupert's cock twitched and pulsed, filling his mouth.  Wesley refused to swallow at first, letting Rupert's taste pour over his tongue.  After milking Rupert's orgasm, he sat up, swallowing and then breathing hard as he tried to calm down.

Giles didn't move for a long moment.  He was smiling, though, watching Wesley through half-lidded eyes.  He wouldn't have been surprised had Rupert spontaneously begun to purr.  
Then Rupert pulled himself up, hand reaching out to cup the back of Wesley's neck and pull their mouths together.  Wesley moaned as Rupert licked along his lips before diving in, pushing his tongue against every surface inside Wesley's mouth.

Wesley moaned, bucking into the touch, when Rupert's fingers slipped around his erection.  He ached with his need for release and let Rupert push him back.  His head lolled backward as Rupert licked at his neck and he moaned as that talented mouth worked its way down his chest.  Wesley was grateful when Rupert didn't linger over his nipples, unsure he could take the lovely torment just then.

His cock jumped when Rupert pressed his lips to it.  Giles fisted him, spreading pre-cum with his thumb, before lapping at the head.  Wesley shuddered as Rupert stroked him, tongue flickering under his foreskin and pushing it back.

Panting, Wesley strained to get more of that hot mouth, spreading his legs wider.  Had he been able to catch his breath, Wesley was fairly sure he'd have begged, anything to get those lips around his cock again.

Then Rupert was taking him in, warm, wet mouth sliding down his throbbing prick, hand rolling his balls, and he groaned.  It felt like nothing else.  Rupert's mouth was so soft, his tongue playing with Wesley's foreskin, providing constant sensation.  Wesley's body strained as he fought not to buck, not to thrust himself deeper into that lovely mouth.  
The fingers on his balls slipped lower, press-sliding over his perineum before rubbing against his entrance.  Wesley gasped, half sitting up, hands grabbing for anything close by.  Then Rupert pressed inside him, just a little, enough make the burn rise.  Wesley moaned, his balls drawing up tight.

Wesley shouted as he came, body shuddering from head to toe, muscles clenching, flooding Rupert's mouth.  He felt Rupert swallow around him and shivered, the last tremors of his orgasm echoing down his nerves. 

Rupert pulled away and then crawled up Wesley's body, their mouths meeting in a sated, lazy kiss.  Rupert relaxed against him, settling in so that his weight was more on the couch than on Wesley.  His hands slid over Wesley' sweat-slick skin in soothing patterns.

"I . . ." Wesley didn't know what to say.  He wanted to say something, wanted to hear Rupert speak to know this was real and not just a very, very vivid dream.  "That was . . ."

"Mmm-hmm," Rupert agreed and pressed his lips against Wesley's neck in a soft kiss that made Wesley shiver.  "It definitely was."


	4. Chapter 4

"We should move," Wesley eventually said, finding himself dozing right there on the sofa.

"Probably," Rupert replied. Wesley could feel him smiling against his skin.  "There's quite a bit to do.  We need to research and take a good look at that book."

Neither of them budged.  Wesley did try at one point, but Rupert's grip tightened around him, holding him close.  Smiling, Wesley settled back against Rupert.  Moments later, Rupert sighed and loosened his grip.

"Damn.  We do have to move."

Chuckling, Wesley rolled off the coach, standing and offering Rupert a hand.  His light mood didn't last very long.  Of course, even the thought of the book and his earlier discovery failed to completely banish the warm glow he felt inside.  They both dressed quickly, Wesley watching Rupert pulled on his trousers with some regret.

He felt odd, as if he were walking around in a fog.  The need to concentrate on their tasks pulled at him, but Wesley didn't want to let them drag him from this lovely haze.  He could barely believe what they had just done, as right has it had seemed at the time, it was fully hitting him now.  He'd just given Rupert Giles a blowjob.  On the sofa.

"Wesley?"  Blinking, he turned to find Rupert watching him.  "Are you all right?"  There was a hint of smugness in Rupert's voice, but Wesley could hardly blame him.  "You look a bit dazed."

"Uh, yes.  Yes, I’m fine.  We-we should concentrate on the book.  If we know what they wanted . . ." Wesley gave the best reassuring smile he could conjure.  Rupert studied him a moment longer before nodding and turning to one of the bookshelves.  He pulled out several texts and deposited them on the coffee table before choosing one from the pile.

"Here it is.  Do you remember where it left off?"

Nodding, Wesley took the proffered book, sitting back down on the couch as he flipped to the correct page.  "It ended here," he said when Rupert came to sit beside him, reading over his arm.  "This part's mainly about a demon horde that destroyed several small Indian villages.  I really don't see how it has any value to anyone these days."

"There must be some value," Rupert said, his voice hard again.  "They didn't do this for fun, after all."

Nodding, Wesley grabbed a pen and some paper in order to begin translating.  "I'll see what I can find."

Rupert nodded and Wesley felt a brief brush of the man's hand over his shoulder.  Biting the insides of his smiling lips--he should be serious about this, after all--Wesley set to work.  Rupert had other research to do, trying to work out what Balthazar had meant with his dying words.  Wesley found himself glancing up every so often, watching Rupert work for a few moments before going back to his own task.  Even when the text began to absorb him, whenever he needed to pause and think his eyes went to Rupert.

Sometime later, Wesley looked up at the sound of a frustrated groan.  Rupert closed his book with a sigh, removing his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose.

"Not going well?"  Wesley asked, immediately regretting the question.  Obviously it wasn't or Rupert wouldn't look so ragged.

Rupert shook his head, sighing, and Wesley had a sudden thought.  Swallowing hard against his own anxieties, he carefully put his own book down on the coffee table.  He paused for a moment, unsure, and then forced himself to his feet.  He walked over to where Rupert sat on the floor, leaning back against his easy chair.  Rupert looked up at him, forehead wrinkling in a question, eyes slightly squinted without his glass.  At that look, a wave of warmth washed away Wesley's anxiety, and with a shy smile, he climbed into the chair and put his hands on Rupert's shoulders, rubbing at the knots there.

Rupert groaned, pushing back into his hands and Wesley's smile grew wider.  For a while, as Wesley massaged some of the tension from Rupert, they were both silent, except for Rupert's occasional sounds of pleasure.  Then Rupert reached his hands up, covering Wesley's and leaned back.  He laid his head back on Wesley's crossed legs.

"I'm going to bed.  Join me when you're through here?"

Wesley's breath caught at the thought.  It wasn't that he'd assumed Rupert wouldn't want him in the bed, but more that he hadn't actually thought of their sleeping arrangements.  He'd only ever even been in Rupert's bed once and the only time they'd, literally, slept together had been on the couch.  He'd also had a concussion and barely remembered what it had been like to feel . . . 

"Of course."  Even Wesley realized how breathless he sounded and cursed himself for it.  Rupert either didn't notice or chose to ignore it, smiling and squeezing Wesley's hands before letting go and climbing to his feet.

Sending him a tired smile, Rupert stacked his own books neatly on the coffee table and made his way to the bathroom.  Trying to control the grin that wanted to lift his lips, Wesley forced himself to quit daydreaming and get back to his work.

A little while later, Rupert came out and, without a word, kissed Wesley on the head before stumbling tiredly up the stairs.  Wesley watched him go, savoring the comfortable silence.  It was all so . . . easy.  As if it were perfectly normal for him to be there, perfectly right for him to be sitting in Rupert Giles' living room, translating late into the night before toddling upstairs to crawl into a warm bed with his . . . lover.

Suddenly it was too much.  Wesley put aside his book, trying to find breath.  His eyes flashed around the room, taking in all the details, frantic to memorize this moment, to lock it away inside his head for later.  He closed his eyes, making certain he could picture it all from the moment they'd entered the flat.  He wished desperately there were a way to get it down, to translate his memories, and all the feelings attached, into pictures he could pull out and look at when . . . when he needed to.

 _Stop it,_ he ordered himself, taking slow, soothing breaths.  _Just stop and enjoy it.  Just . . . do your work and . . . don't think about later._

He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath to calm himself before picking up his book and pad of paper again.  He dove into the words, letting them fill his mind and ease the dread twisting his stomach and Wesley lost track of time.  He'd reached a particularly difficult, but quite intriguing, passage on the demon horde's leader, when he heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Wesley?"  He looked up at the sound of Rupert's voice, smiling faintly at the groggy man, dressed only in pajama bottoms, his hair rumpled and wild.

"Yes?"  He tried to hide his amusement, but couldn't when his smile widened of its own accord.

"It's two in the morning," Giles said.  Wesley blinked, shaking his head.  It couldn't be that late.  Glancing to the clock, he saw that Rupert was right.  Damn.  He'd probably never get any sleep now. He still had quite a bit to translate and it would probably take him until morning to finish the section.

"Put the book down and come to bed."

"But--"

"Wesley?  It's two in the morning.  Come to bed."  Rupert's voice was firm, his eyes insisting.

"All right."  Ducking his head to hide a smile he couldn't have explained if he'd tried, Wesley stacked his own books on the coffee table, beside Rupert's, and made his way up the stairs.  He didn't have any clothing with him, hadn't known he'd be staying over again so soon.  Heart fluttering at that thought, Wesley reached the top of the stairs to find Rupert already in bed, lying on his back with his hands stacked beneath his head.  His eyes were open, watching.

Wesley gave him a shy smile, preparing to ask if Rupert had anything he could sleep in when he saw Rupert's own pajama bottoms folded and lying atop the dresser.  Breath catching in his throat, Wesley told himself to calm down.  It wasn't as if they hadn't seen each other nude before.  Swallowing, Wesley turned around, beginning to take off his own clothing.  He was conscious of Rupert's eyes on him all the while and found it nerve-wracking, and yet somehow exhilarating.

To take his mind from the jangling of his nerves, Wesley planned.  They'd have to get up early again tomorrow, so that Rupert could drop him at his flat.  Logistically it was a nightmare.  Perhaps he should pack an overnight bag?  Something he could run into his flat and grab should this happen again . . . or maybe he could even leave some things here?  A few changes of clothing, an extra toothbrush . . .

No, he quickly told himself when he began to feel his hopes rise.  It was far too soon in their relationship for that kind of thing.  He wasn't even sure that Rupert would want him around tomorrow.  After all, the only reason he'd spent the night once, let alone twice, was due to injury.  Rupert, like any good, kind human being, didn't want to leave him alone while he was injured.  _Good Lord, I've got to get a hold of myself._

Shaking himself, swallowing against the lump in his throat, Wesley slid off his boxers.  Unable to meet Rupert's gaze, he hurriedly climbed under the covers.  Adjusting the pillows underneath him, he mimicked Giles' posture, lying on his back with his hands under his head, not knowing what else to do.

He'd thought about snuggling up to Rupert, but he wasn't sure that was allowed.  No, not 'allowed', so much as . . . 'proper etiquette'?  No, that wasn't really what he meant either, but Wesley didn't want to do the wrong thing.  He wanted to do exactly the right thing so that, maybe, he'd get to do this again.

"Did you learn anything interesting?" came Rupert's sleep-husky voice and Wesley had to repress a shudder and a smile just at the sound of it.

"Uh, a few things, though I don't see how any of it relates to the incident."

"Attack.  Wesley, you were attacked."

"Yes."  Wesley could hear the shrug in his own voice.  He sensed Rupert's movement next to him and looked over to find the man had turned on his side, toward Wesley, and propped his head on his elbow.  Olive-colored eyes studied him and, absently it seemed, Rupert's free hand moved to rest casually on Wesley's stomach, which fluttered a bit at the touch.

"You say that as if someone sprayed you with a water pistol instead of beating the hell out of you."

Wesley raised an eyebrow, considering, and was a bit disturbed to realize he would have been angrier if someone had sprayed him with water.  Of course he was upset, and frightened, but not actually angry.

"Well, that's got you thinking," Rupert sighed and Wesley was surprised when Rupert leaned down and brushed their lips together.  "Don't worry about it tonight.  Sleep, but do think about it."

"Y-yes, of-of course."  Were he being honest, he'd have said that Rupert's kiss, brief as it had been, had already thrown his train of thought off anyway.  And once Rupert moved closer, pushing their bodies together and slinging his arm over Wesley's stomach, his chin rubbing against the top of Wesley's head?  Well, thought pretty much left then.

He laid there for a long time, feeling Rupert's body relax around him, concentrating on the way it felt as warmth seeped into his skin.  He could feel the lack of tension, the way Rupert just seemed to melt around him.  Wesley himself couldn't help but relax a little, but he fought sleep for some time, wanting to commit the details to memory before they flew away.  The bed and Rupert's skin smelled warm and clean.  Rupert moved, even in his sleep, to accommodate Wesley’s smallest adjustment.  It was warm under the covers and it felt wonderful to have someone else's skin so close to his own.

Sighing happily, Wesley had to smile as he remembered what Rupert had told him when he'd brought him back from the library.  _Don't worry.  We'll get you warmed up soon._   

The man certainly knew how to keep his word.

****

Wesley woke up slowly.  It was the first time in a long time that he didn't feel disoriented, knew exactly where he was from the moment even the smallest spark of consciousness found him.  This was due to Rupert's strong arm thrown over his chest, and the man himself snoring softly against his neck.

Unable to fight a small smile, Wesley let his hand travel up his lover's arm.  He laid there, eyes closed, and took it in for long moments.  Then the alarm clock went off and he jumped, as did Rupert.

Shaking his head, Rupert flopped over and turned the thing off, blinking blearily as he sat up.  Wesley watched him stretch, eyeing the lines of his body with a sheepish fascination.  He quickly glanced away when Rupert turned to him, but not, he suspected, before he was caught.  Smiling shyly at Rupert's grin, Wesley shrugged and looked away.

Chuckling, Rupert laid back down beside him and Wesley's smile widened a little as Rupert propped himself up on his elbow.  "Sleep well?"

Wesley stretched, nodding.  "Very.  I only wish . . . er . . ." he'd been about to say he wished they never had to get out of bed, because out there, in the actual world, he'd have to think again.  If he could just lie there, he wouldn't have to wonder what to do about Faith, wouldn't have to wonder what to do about the attack, or worry about anything else.

 _You'd still screw it up, say something stupid to Rupert or--_   Firmly telling that voice in his head to bugger off, Wesley rolled to his side, facing Rupert and mimicking the man's position.

"How did you sleep?"  Reaching out a hand, he brushed it lightly along his lover's arm, still marveling over those words.  His lover.  His.  Lover.  Both were equally wonderful, and put together . . . 

"Wonderfully," Rupert replied.  "I'm glad I thought to set the alarm clock for slightly earlier though."

Wesley sighed, nodding.  "Yes, I'm--I'm sorry you have to get up early to drop me off at my flat--"

"Hmm?  Oh, no.  That takes almost no time and I hardly care given it means I get the pleasure of your company the night before.  No, I set the clock early so we didn't have to rush right out of bed."  Rupert caught his elbow, sliding his hand down Wesley’s arm to intertwine their fingers, as he rolled over onto his back.

Wesley smiled, biting his lip and scooting closer.  As Rupert certainly hadn't seemed to mind the night before, Wesley pressed his body along Rupert's, letting his arm lie across Rupert's stomach, their hands clasped together.  Rupert closed his eyes, moving his arm to make a better pillow for Wesley.

Wesley was uncomfortable for a moment, unsure what else to do or say.  Rupert didn't seem to expect conversation though.  In fact, he seemed perfectly happy to just lie there with Wesley curled up to him.

Wesley actually fell asleep again, waking to Rupert's gentle nudging.

"Wesley?  Wes?"  Wesley looked up at Rupert with an apology on his lips, only to have it die there when he saw the expression on Rupert's face.  It was amused, but . . . something else, something very nice.  "We have to get up," Rupert made it sound like the direst hardship, which only made Wesley's small smile widen.

"I suppose we must all make sacrifices for the good of the world," Wesley muttered sleepily.

After a bit more groaning, they did eventually get up.  Wesley stood and stretched before remembering he was naked.  Freezing, he turned to find Giles standing by his dresser, his eyes riveted.  Feeling self conscious, Wesley reached for his clothes.

"Join me in the shower?"  Rupert walked past, completely naked, with his clothing tucked under his arm.  Wesley couldn’t help but watch as Rupert walked down the stairs, leaning closer to the loft's railing while Rupert sauntered to the bathroom.

Blinking himself out of his stupor, Wesley thought about that for a moment, his eyes sliding to his clothes and then back to the bathroom door.  He wished he could be so casual.  Spotting Rupert's bathrobe, he quickly pulled it on, grabbing his clothing and hurrying to catch up.

Rupert said nothing about the robe, for which Wesley was grateful.  He hopped into the shower quickly, still feeling self-conscious.  That was actually an improvement on when they'd showered together the day before.  Then, he'd been red from head to toe.

Rupert handed him a washcloth and the soap, as if it were normal for the two of them to be together, naked, in the shower.  Rupert's calm seemed almost contagious.  In fact, Wesley found himself chatting with Rupert about the information they'd gathered the night before as if they were having tea instead of showering and washing one another's backs.

"Well, I did learn some interesting things about the demon horde.  Their leader," he said as he stepped from the shower, offering Rupert a towel before taking one for himself, "was a young half-demon man whose power was said to be contained in his knife.  It was a gift to him from . . . oh, good Lord, I don't remember.  I'll have to check my notes, but it was said to be quite valuable, though I believe there was mention of some curse.  He seems an interesting fellow really, if one discounts the cold, vicious insanity."

Rupert chuckled at that and Wesley ducked his head, glad that Rupert seemed to understand that he wasn't actually being serious, only attempting dry humor in his own way.

"Well, that book, those chapters in particular, mean something.  We just have to work out what."  Rupert said as he led the way into the kitchen.  Wesley leaned in the doorway as Rupert made coffee.  "Wesley?"

"Hmm?"

"Did the book happen to describe the knife?  Perhaps tell us where it might be located?"  Rupert turned to look at him and Wesley's eyes widened.  He turned and went to the book, carefully pulling it open to the place where he'd stopped for the night.

He didn't bother trying to understand the sentences, or even translate every word until he found words that were likely description.  Picking up his pen and notepad, he began to translate those lines, only vaguely hearing as Rupert called the library.

Wesley worked for a while, moving to Rupert's desk and barely noticing that the cup of coffee at his elbow remained full and hot the entire time.  His mind was fully on the translation, puzzling through the archaic speech and the author's own rambling style.  The use of what amounted to run on sentences only made his task more difficult.  Not that it wasn't always difficult when an object was being described.  To translate what he was reading into current terms he had to be able to see it in his mind.  This meant pondering the slang of centuries ago, as well as the forms of the language in which the description was written.

Sighing, Wesley removed his glasses, polishing them as he thought, chewing on his lower lip.  He looked up to find Rupert bustling around the flat, dusting books and knick knacks, fiddling for a moment with his antique radio, straightening the coffee table and couch cushions.  Wesley had to smile, finding the domesticity terribly . . . well, cute, actually.

Chuckling, he went back to his words, trying once again to understand the elaborate description, pockmarked with rambling 'insights' into how the blade was made.  Finally, he sighed, certain he'd done the best he could.

"That should do it for the description.  The rest seems to be going on about how useful it is.  I shall translate that as well, of course, but I think this will give us an idea of what we're dealing with."

Rupert leaned over him, reading what he had written.  Wesley shivered at the feel of hot breath against his neck and couldn't stop himself from leaning against Rupert's body.  Rupert made no remark and Wesley let out a sigh of relief.

"Hmm.  So, what we're looking for is a punching dagger, split double bladed with short, edged quillion, and what amounts to a Belgian pistol grip?  Doesn't sound at all familiar, but that doesn't mean much.  Do you think it might mention locations?"

"I think so, but I have to get through all the tripe first.  The author writes like a child and was quite interested in singing its praises, which . . . makes me nervous."

"Yes, and rightly so.  I always get a little nervous when they can't shut up about something."  Rupert's easy agreement made Wesley smiled and then glanced at the clock, cringing.

"Oh, dear God," he said with a small sigh.  "I'm surprised the children haven't come knocking by now.  We'd best go before they tear down your door."

"Oh, I called.  We both took the day off."

Wesley blinked, his mind spinning.  "Uh, you . . . called for both of us?"  He didn't know how to feel about that.  Had Rupert just given away to the children that they were lovers?  How else would he know, so early in the morning, that neither of them would be in that day?  Wesley would have thought that seemed a little suspicious, but perhaps it was only him.  Or perhaps Rupert wanted the children to know.

Part of him jumped at the thought, amazed that Rupert would openly admit or even hint that they were lovers.  The other was wondering how in hell he was ever going to look those children in the eyes again.  How was he to manage to ignore snide, snarky remarks about his personal life?  Perhaps they wouldn't do that with Rupert involved?  No, he knew they respected the man, certainly more than they did him, but they didn't spare Rupert when it came to their little comments.  Especially Xander.  How was he going to . . . oh, God. 

Rupert looked at him and nodded.  "I told them you'd called to tell me you'd found something on your attackers.  We’re meant to be working in the field today, looking for an object that might have something to do with your attack."

Wesley wasn't sure how to react to that either.  He was glad the children remained unaware.  Still, he was astonished to discover he might have liked Rupert's public acknowledgement of their relationship.  Of course, perhaps it was too early for that?  He was probably rushing things again, of course, trying for too much, too quickly. 

Nodding, he went back to the translation.  Rupert leaned against the desk for a while, watching him, and Wesley found it hard to concentrate with Rupert's eyes upon him, that warm body so very close.

"Uh, Rupert?"

"Hmm?  Oh.  Is my--of course having me looking over your shoulder is distracting.  Sorry.  Why don't I make us some breakfast while you work through that?"

"That would be wonderful."  Wesley smiled, once again enjoying the easy interaction, but also surprised at its return.  He'd thought, last night, that such a thing must be special.  Not that it wasn't still special, but now, seeing how quickly both he and Rupert had slipped into it, it seemed more everyday, more attainable.  It seemed like something he could, perhaps, look forward to having again and again.

"Bugger," he heard Giles sigh from the kitchen.  "I'm afraid I've been a little too, er, distracted to shop.  Why don't I go pick something up instead?"

"Lovely," Wesley commented, half-distracted by a particularly difficult bit.  He looked up only once before Rupert left, when Rupert brushed his fingers across Wesley’s back on the way out.  Like the kiss, it was a simple, easy gesture, comfortable and comforting.

His smile widening, Wesley dove into his book.  In fact, he was so enthralled he almost didn't hear the scuffle outside.  A loud crash caught his attention however and he stood, chair falling back as he ran to the door, grabbing a crossbow from its place in one of the wall niches.

Throwing the door open, he saw Giles being held down, kneeling, by two men.  He was struggling, but had no leverage, his feet pressed under him and both men pushing their weight against him.  There was a third saying something.  When Rupert shook his head, the man lashed out with a foot, catching Rupert squarely in the ribs.


	5. Chapter 5

Wesley took in several factors as he raised the crossbow, his mind flying in many directions.  He took careful aim.  All three were apparently human, judging by the bright sunlight that lit the courtyard.  Wounding shots, then.  His first bolt caught the one man in the thigh and he went down, screaming.  Wesley was already loading a second bolt when one of the men holding Rupert turned to him.

That put the man off balance and Wesley shook his head, tsking loudly as he raised his crossbow.  Rupert surged back, focusing his force on the off-balance man and pushing to the side.  He made it to his feet, ripping his arm free from the third man.  Rupert dove to the side and Wesley fired, hitting the one man still on his feet.  The bolt took him in the arm, the force of it causing him to stumble and fall.

The other had hit his head on the ground, but was even now standing.  He grabbed the man who had a bolt through his thigh and together they hobbled from the courtyard.  Rupert was standing, brushing himself off as the man with a bolt in his arm stood.  Wesley pointed his crossbow and heard Rupert tell the man not to move.

Freezing, the attacker watched them carefully, his jaw clenching and unclenching.  Wesley kept the crossbow trained on him and let Rupert do the talking.  He wanted to have complete concentration.  If the man so much as twitched in Rupert's direction, he'd be dead.  Period.  Wesley was a little disturbed at the white noise that had seemed to fill his head as he'd come outside, the steadiness of an arm that should be shaking with relief or . . . tension or . . . something.  Some feeling.  Shouldn't he feel something?

"What the bloody hell was this about?"  Rupert's voice was colder than Wesley had ever heard it.  Still the voice of the man he'd come to know, though, still Rupert and therefore strangely comforting.

"You're both dead men.  We should never have left you breathing," the attacker said to Wesley, who started, blinking, but did not as much as twitch his crossbow.  "And you?  We'll get it out of you, kill you slow."  The man's smile as he said such things to Rupert made Wesley want to pull the trigger, wipe the smirk off his face with a crossbow bolt to someplace that would hurt, but not kill him.  Shuddering slightly at those thoughts, Wesley clamped his mouth shut to keep from speaking them aloud.

"And why is that?"  Rupert sounded so calm and Wesley wondered if Rupert felt the same as he did, filled with noise and yet empty as if his stomach had dropped out somewhere along the line.

"We will find it.  You can't keep us from it--" the man suddenly stopped, words trailing off into choking sound, foam spilling from his mouth, his limbs jerking grotesquely.  Wesley watched in horror as he collapsed, eyes bulging from his head as he fell to the courtyard paving stones.

"Bugger," Rupert murmured, and Wesley's eyes flicked to him.  Like a puppet with cut strings, Wesley's arm went slack, the crossbow falling uselessly to his side.

 _Bugger_?  Blinking, Wesley swallowed hard as his throat constricted with the urge to vomit.  "What . . . uh, what happened?"

Rupert moved closer to the man, cautious.  Wesley immediately brought the crossbow back up, shuffling closer as well.

"He's dead," Rupert said after a quick check of the man's pulse.  "I'm not sure what happened yet.  Help me flip him over."  Blanching at the thought of touching the body, Wesley nonetheless put aside his weapon and knelt next to Rupert.  His fingers were trembling, but at least he felt something now.  Of course, he wasn't exactly sure he didn't want to go back to the noise and emptiness as, mostly, he felt rather nauseated.

With his help, Rupert flipped the man over.  Wesley flinched back at the smell of . . . bitter almonds?

"Cyanide," he and Rupert said together, though Wesley thought his own voice was a bit less steady.  He looked at the other man and wondered why it didn't seem real.  There was a dead body in Rupert's courtyard and it felt like a rather bland nightmare.

"He killed himself.  That's . . . odd," Rupert said.

Wesley blinked at Rupert, shaking his head, his voice an indignant whisper.  "Odd?  There's a dead man lying in your courtyard and it's . . . odd?"

"Hmm?  Well, yes.  It's certainly never happened before."

And somehow that was the last straw.  Turning on his knees, Wesley crawled to the nearest bush and heaved the contents of his stomach, trying to stem the tide of laughter that seemed to be welling up inside.

Odd.  A dead human, whom he'd been ready to maim . . .  and it was . . . _odd_.  And that was funny.  What was wrong with him?  What the bloody hell was wrong with Rupert?  How could the man be so damn calm?

And then there was a hand on his back, warm and soothing.  Rupert knelt next to him, offering a handkerchief and Wesley took it without hesitation, wiping his mouth and blowing the taste from his nose.

"How can--how can you be so bloody calm?"  He regretted the question as soon as it came out.  God, how weak he must look, but . . . a dead human.  A dead body.  And the image of bulging eyes and foam spewing lips and . . . oh, God.  Feeling bile rise in his throat once again, Wesley forced the images from his mind and pressed the handkerchief to his mouth.

"Uh, well . . ." Rupert gave him a worried look, still moving his hand over Wesley’s back.  "We don't . . . can we at least get the body inside before we discuss this?"

Once again left blinking, Wesley only nodded, his mind filled with a tiny, giggling voice that said, _Of course.  We should get the body inside.  Inside Rupert's flat . . . where else do dead bodies belong?_

"Right," he managed, trying to keep his voice from cracking as he stood, neatly folded the handkerchief, and turned to help move a dead man into his lover's flat.

*****

Wesley swallowed hard, trying to force down the bile as he washed his hands for the third time.  Rupert didn't comment and Wesley was grateful.  He wasn't sure he could have taken derision from Rupert at the moment . . . or at all, ever.

His main thought was that there was something very wrong about having a dead man in the bathtub.  Shaking his head, Wesley dried his hands and turned to go back into the living room.  The sound of Rupert shutting the bathroom door was a relief.

"What, uh, what do we do with it now?"  Wesley collapsed onto the couch, removing his glasses and putting them on the coffee table so he could scrub his hands over his face.  "Calling the police entered my mind, but won't there be questions?  And we did move it.  I . . . what do we _do_?"

He felt Rupert take seat next to him and glanced up to find his lover looking tired and worn.  Without a thought, he leaned against Rupert, brought somewhat back to reality by the arm laid over his shoulders, a solid, comfortable weight.

There was a dead body in the bathroom.  The man had threatened them, had taken his own life . . . Why?  For what?  A dagger?  The puzzle began to draw him even further back, though it did nothing to lessen the vague numbness that still clung to him, nor did it quell the little voice in his mind that seemed to be laughing hysterically.

"Uh, I suppose we dump it.  Uh, in water, somewhere.  Let the police find him and . . . well, it isn't as if they're anything near good at their jobs.  Dear Lord, Wesley, how am I supposed to know what to do with a dead body?"

"I'm sorry.  I just thought . . . well, you're so calm."

"It's not as if we killed him.  However, I do find it quite disturbing that the man killed himself rather than answer our questions.  What did he think we'd do to him?"

"Does it matter?"  Relaxing against the hand that was rubbing his tense neck, Wesley shook his head.  "I . . . a dead man is in your bathtub.  I find that very disturbing.  In fact, it's going to be hard to shower here," Wesley sighed and then realized what he'd said.  Afraid he'd been a bit presumptuous, he glanced over to find Rupert shrugging.

"I can't say I'm particularly thrilled either.  Perhaps we'll need to stay at your flat for a day or two, or at least shower there if the thought's too disturbing."  Rupert shrugged once again and Wesley found himself warmed by how easily the man said 'we', acted as if the solution were only natural.

If _they_ couldn't shower at his place, then _they_ 'd simply do it at Wesley's.  It was such a small thing, but seemed another sign of acceptance, or continuity, and made him feel . . . wanted.

"Yes, of course.  I, er," he wasn't sure if he should continue, didn't know what was proper or not for so early in a relationship like this one.  "I enjoy staying over here," he finally admitted, a bit nervously.

"Then we'll just shower at your flat," Rupert said, off-handedly, his mind obviously elsewhere.  "We need to talk to the others.  There's clearly something going on here.  Those men were dangerous and if they’re after this dagger . . ."

"I'll get back to the translation," Wesley said.  The brief moments of a completely different kind of nervousness had helped him to push back the hysteria.  It didn't hurt that he now had something else upon which to focus.  The translation.  If he just concentrated on that . . .

"Right.  I'll call Buffy and the others, have them come here after school with some books from the library.  If you can find that dagger's location, I'd like to have Buffy along when we check it out."

"Good," Wesley said with a nod, still not quite able to move from the warmth of Rupert's hand.  "A plan is good.  Uh, when--when will we have time to dump the, uh, the body?"

"I'm hoping that Angel will take care of that while we check out locations."

"Oh, thank God," Wesley muttered and then blushed, realizing again how weak he must seem to Rupert.

"I quite agree," the other man responded with a snort and Wesley glanced at him, finding his lover watching him with a worried expression.  "Are you all right?"

Wesley straightened, putting his glasses back on and swallowing hard.  "I'm fine.  It's a bit of a shock is all."

"That it is."  The man leaned in and Wesley closed his eyes at the feel of Rupert's lips, soft and quick, against his own.  "We should get started."

Wesley nodded firmly, standing and going back to his translation.  It took him a while to get back to where he had left off.  He listened to Rupert on the phone, telling the children that they needed to come by after school.  Rupert didn't mention what had happened, which Wesley thought was wise.

Sighing, Wesley forced himself to work and was lost again for a long while.  He stared at the words until he thought the convoluted structure might make his eyes bleed, but finally seemed to be getting somewhere.  There was mention that the horde's leader had a fondness for the ocean and a particular set of caves.

It apparently took Rupert a few tries to get his attention.  Wesley looked up to find the other man sitting on the edge of his desk, an amused smile on his face.  "I wanted to ask if you feel up to eating."

"Uh," Wesley thought about that and then shrugged.  "I feel fine, but not particularly hungry."

"Why don't you come away from the research for a little while regardless?  You've been at it all day and the children will be here soon."

Wesley looked up at that, unsure exactly what Rupert meant.  The children would be here soon, so . . . what?  So they should get in what time to themselves they could?  So he should try to look as if he hadn't spent the night in Rupert's arms?

He shrugged, nodding and closing the book with a sigh, after carefully marking his place.  "Perhaps," he said without looking up, busying himself straightening the Rupert's desk.  "Perhaps I should go to my flat and change.  The children might notice that I wore this yesterday."

"Would that bother you?"  Rupert leaned back on the desk, his expression curious and his tone giving no hint to his own thoughts on the matter.

Wesley raised an eyebrow, sighing.  "Uh, well . . . I don't know.  Uh, I'm not terribly happy to be caught in my shirtsleeves and trousers from yesterday, but, uh . . . that's not really what you're asking, is it?"

Rupert shook his head, but remained silent.

Wesley looked at Rupert and shrugged.  "I don't know how to answer that."  Rupert raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to speak, but Wesley rushed to continue.  "No, wait, let me finish.  It's a difficult question.  You're asking if I mind the children guessing about our . . . _us_ , and I don't know.  It--it isn't as if they've ever liked me or . . . but then again neither did you."  Snorting, Wesley leaned his head in his hands.

He tried to reason out what the children might think and found it impossible.  Did they even know that 'their Giles' might favor men as well as women?  He highly doubted it.  It wasn't something Rupert would just discuss without reason . . . although . . . could there have been 'reason' before him?  Squirming at that possibility, Wesley thought again of all the jokes at his expense and wondered how that would change, if that would change, and . . . damn it; he didn't want to think about this.  He wasn't even sure what was between Rupert and him and . . .

"It would bother me," he finally said, swallowing hard and fearing how Rupert would take his reluctance.

"Wesley?"  Rupert came to stand in front of him and Wesley raised his head, quite worried about what would come next.  He met those breathtaking eyes, dread rising.  "It was a hypothetical question.  I didn't mean to upset you and it's not as if I'm particularly ready to--forgive the expression, however appropriate--jump out of the closet to them myself."

Snorting, Rupert sat beside him and Wesley leaned against him automatically.  When he realized what he’d done he made to pull away, but Rupert's arm settled around him, the action so casual, almost absentminded, that Wesley stayed where he was.

"Why did--" Wesley cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the confusion in his tone.  "Why did you ask?"

"If, uh, if there is to be anything between us in-in the long run . . ." Wesley's heart skipped a beat, chest constricting tight as he waited for Rupert to continue.  "I . . . think it's a fairly important question.  I wouldn't want to hide, Wesley, and if . . . if you're uncomfortable with being more open ab--"

"Wait," Wesley straightened, shaking his head.  "That's not . . . I'm not saying that I could never . . ." Wesley wanted to say that it didn't mean he could never be open about . . . them, but . . . could he?  Dear Lord.  Who would know?  Just what did Rupert mean by 'not hiding'?  "I . . . oh, God."  He was breathing too fast again, the idea of his father finding out about Rupert driving him quickly toward panic.

"Shh," Giles whispered in his ear, though he couldn't have said how long that warm breath had been tickling his neck.  Long enough so that it didn't come as a surprise.  "Calm down, Wes.  Breathe.  We'll talk about this another time, just . . . breathe."

Right.  Breathing.  He'd been doing that all his life and suddenly it seemed so hard.  Relaxing into Rupert's hold, he tried to calm down, tried to gain some composure.

"No," he said softly, forcing himself to sit up and take deep gulps of air.  "If, uh, if it's an important question than we should dis-discuss it."  He didn't want Rupert feeling as if he couldn't bring things like this up.  More importantly, he didn't want Rupert to decide that nothing 'more' was possible between them.

Wesley found he rather liked the idea, in theory.  He wasn't sure what it might entail in practice, but the thought of Rupert feeling 'more' for him was . . . exciting.  It was a little frightening as well, though.  He'd have liked to ask what was included in this 'more', how would it change things?  What was he supposed to do?  While he doubted there was a simple, straightforward list, he'd have loved to have one.

"Only if you want to," Rupert said, leaning back a little.  Wesley felt the loss of the other man's breath on his neck, but thought this might be better for his ability to think clearly.  "I must admit that I . . . don't understand the strength of your reaction."

Wesley leaned back, turning to look at Rupert and wondering how he could even begin to explain.  He didn't want to hurt Rupert's feelings, though honestly he wasn't sure if he were capable of that in anything more than a superficial sense.

"Uh, I . . . What do you mean by 'open'.  There’s just . . . I've never . . ." Shaking his head, Wesley sighed and tried just to blurt it out.  "I don't know what--what any of this _is_.  I don't. . ." Wesley swallowed hard, squirming a bit.  "I've never done this before and, quite frankly, it scares the hell out of me.  I don't know what to do, or say, and I . . . what happens if I do something wrong?"

Rupert raised an eyebrow, standing and opening his mouth to speak only to snap it shut when they heard the children's voices in the courtyard.  "Damn," Rupert growled, hand reaching for the lock on the door.  Wesley intercepted it, slipping his fingers around Rupert's wrist.

"No.  It's all right.  We--we really can't discuss this with them just waiting outside.  Uh, do you mind if I skip this?  I'd like to go check in on Faith and . . ." Wesley motioned to his clothing, his mind already spinning the jokes the children would make if they knew.

Rupert opened his mouth again and shut it, nodding.  "All right, but . . . we'll discuss it later?"

"Of course."  Wesley gave the best smile he was capable of, suddenly wanting to get out, get away.  God, he'd probably ruined things.  It had been so _easy_ between Rupert and himself and he'd probably destroyed that by basically saying he was too scared to continue and that wasn't true, but . . . in some ways it was.  It was all tangled in his head.  How could he expect Rupert to understand when he couldn't even sort it all out himself?

Wesley barely remembered leaving Rupert's flat.  He all but flew past the children, with a quick nod at their surprised greetings.  He had no idea how Rupert would explain his presence, but needed to get away for a while, to think.

So much had happened so quickly and he'd been simply content to go with it, to let it happen because it felt so very good, but now he was unsure.  The past two days had been beyond words.  The easy feeling between Rupert and himself, the way the man touched him, kissed him . . .

Swallowing hard, Wesley struggled to keep his thoughts from running off.  Still stiff and sore, he ignored the ache of his muscles, walking to his own flat before remembering that his car was at Faith's motel.  Closing his eyes, he tried not to think about her hands around his throat, but the memory that came instead was Rupert bundling him into his car, driving without a thought to his own flat and not to Wesley's.

Sighing, he turned his feet to the park instead.  Going to check on Faith was the right thing to do, but it would wait just a little while.  He needed to think, needed to sort his mind into something at least resembling order.  

All Watcher's received training on how to find their own center, that small, calm place within that let one analyze and think about things rationally and without bias.  Granted, it often took too much time for practice in everyday situations, but it was skill the Council felt all Watchers should possess.  Wesley had learned to do it long before they'd begun teaching him.  He'd found that space inside himself after hours of practice, hours of trying hard not to think how dark and cramped and musty it was in that closet . . .

Pushing those thoughts away as well, Wesley sat on a park bench.  He breathed slowly in and out, focusing on the cobblestone-paved walkways and refusing to let his attention move to anything else.  Opening his eyes, he ran through everything that had happened, trying to pinpoint the moment when what was between Rupert and himself had become a relationship rather than . . . what?  Casual sex?  No, he couldn't say it had ever actually been casual, at least not on his part.  The things Rupert had done to him, that . . . that they'd done together were, to his mind, far from 'casual'.

Rupert seemed to think the same.  He'd called it a relationship, after all, but that could mean anything, really.  Wesley tried to define it to himself, what he thought and wanted and . . . he couldn't.  Not because he didn't know, really.  He wanted what they'd had these last few days.  He wanted the ease between them, the way Rupert touched and talked as if it were perfectly normal, as if they were friends as well as lovers.

However, they hadn't been friends.  Rupert hadn't seemed to like him much at all.  What had changed?  His being injured?  Was all of this based upon some caretaking need in the other man and . . . God, he hoped not.  There would be no chance for something solid, or equal, or real.

That last thought caught Wesley by surprise, as that was something he hadn't realized some part of him wanted.  An actual _relationship_ . . . with Rupert Giles.  God, he must have been hit on the head harder than he'd thought.  He didn't even know if Rupert wanted the same thing, and if he did?  What would that mean?

His mind kicked into planning mode, cataloguing all the changes that would occur in his life.  Rupert had said he didn't want to hide.  Did he mean just from the children?  Wesley wasn't even sure he could handle that, and if it were a more general openness . . .

The Council would not look kindly upon his new outlook concerning the man, he was sure.  Still, he'd already decided that the Council was wrong to have sacked Rupert, that the bond between him and Buffy had only strengthened her will to fight.  That had been why he'd gone to Faith in the first place.

 _And look how that turned out,_ sniped that damnable voice in his head.  Wesley bit his lip, ignoring the sting of the words and pushing them aside to continue his thoughts.  Would the Council eventually sack him as well?  There was terror at the thought, the disappointment he knew his father would feel fueling tremors in his hands.  Wesley blinked at that, his forehead crinkling.  He'd spent his entire life training to be a Watcher, studying and striving to get where he was, to be the official Watcher to not one but two Slayers.  Yet the idea of the Council letting him go made him worry not about what he would do with his life, or how disappointed he himself would be, but rather how disappointed in him his father would feel.

Something about that jostled him.  Sighing, Wesley raised one hand to remove his glasses and the other to rub at the bridge of his nose.  He wanted to talk with Rupert about this.  The talk he'd had with him about Faith had been helpful and friendly; still, he knew he couldn't, not until he knew what to say.  'I want the possibility of something more with you, but the thought scares the bloody hell out of me because I don't know what it means to me and my life' didn't seem like a wonderful way to start off.

No, if they were going to discuss this, he needed to have it all laid out in his mind, needed to know what was going on in his thoughts.  He knew Rupert wouldn't let him off easily, nor should he.  If he started this conversation, if he broke the easiness between them, then at the very least he had to know why he was doing it.  He had to know if it was worth it.

Then again, knowing what Rupert was thinking, what the man wanted from him, with him . . . that might very well be all the motivation he needed.  Rupert's actions . . . he wanted to understand.  What had made Rupert look at him and see something worth . . . caring for?  Caring about?  His breath caught at the latter idea, sending a small shiver through him.  Yes, knowing whether Rupert cared about him might just be worth it.

The walk to Faith's motel gave Wesley plenty of time to think, plenty of time for the terror to begin wearing on him again.  He tried to detach himself from it, but he couldn't seem to get past the fear.

Sighing as he slipped his key into the door lock of his car, Wesley shook his head and tried instead to understand the fear.  Though that hadn't helped him on many occasions, at least he'd then be able to lay it out when he spoke with Rupert.  Mostly, he believed, it was the unknowns in it all.  He didn't like stepping into a situation with no idea of what he was likely to find.  He didn't like--

"Wesley?"

At the sound of his name, Wesley turned, flattening himself against his car and reaching for a stake he wasn't carrying.  Of course, the first thing he realized was that it was daylight and a stake would be rather useless.  The second was that, while it was a vampire who'd called his name, he had nothing to fear from Angel . . . well, mostly.

"Oh, uh, Angel.  I didn't see you skulking there."  The man stood in the opened doorway of Faith's room.  It was safe enough, with the catwalk above shading him.  "What-what are you doing here?"

"Came to get some of Faith's things for her.  You here to get your car?"  The vampire was, indeed, carrying a duffel bag in which Wesley had seen Faith store weapons.

"Yes.  Uh, Rup--Mr. Giles gave me a--"

Angel held up his hand.  "I don't want details."

Wesley blinked, feeling himself turn red as he sputtered out, " _ride._ "

"Oh," Angel ducked his head, looking quite sheepish.  "Uh, sorry."  He glanced up and shrugged, eyes darting away from Wesley's.

"Good Lord, one would think it would be possible to keep a secret around here," Wesley grumbled under his breath, turning back to his car, too embarrassed to continue the conversation with Angel.

"Look, I'm sorry," Angel said again.  "Really.  I didn't know it was a secret."

Wesley spun around, suddenly angry, though only tangentially with Angel.  Mostly, he was angry about his own reaction, angry that he couldn't just take this in stride.  And why did it matter if Angel knew?  Because that made it all the more likely Buffy did, or would.  How would she react?

"Did Faith tell you?"  Wesley shook his head, advancing on the vampire.  "I don't know why I suddenly feel rather betrayed when I didn't after she nearly choked the life out of me."

"Faith knows?"  Angel raised an eyebrow at that, shaking his head.  "I gotta tell ya, that's probably not the best way to keep a secret."

"She didn't tell you?"  Wesley gaped, racking his brain in an attempt to think of where Angel might have heard about Rupert and himself.  "Then who did?"

Angel raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a faintly worried look.  "Uh, vampire, remember?  I can . . . well, er, smell him on you."

Wesley closed his eyes, sure that his face had gone crimson.  Of course, his reaction was only partially due to the embarrassment that rose up inside him.  The thought of being surrounded by Rupert's scent . . . "Right.  Of course."  Sighing, Wesley raised a hand to rub at his aching forehead.  "Yes, well.  Uh, I would appreciate it if you would . . . uh, not-not mention this to Buffy, or the, uh, the others."

"Uh, s-sure.  I can't say anything for Oz, but you got it."

Wesley blinked at that, his mind taking a moment to make the connection.  Oz, werewolf, heightened sense of smell.  "Damn," he sighed, shaking his head.  Pushing the topic from his mind, because the only thing he could do about it at the moment was panic and he was quite too drained for that, he glanced back at his car.  "Uh, how did you get here?"

"Sewers," Angel shrugged.

"Yes, well.  Grab a blanket from Faith's bed and I'll drive you back.  I was going to see her anyway."

"You were?"  Angel looked at him dubiously, though he was already moving to get a blanket.  "Why?  I mean, no offense, but the last thing Faith needs right now is to be lectured and--"

"I wanted to make sure she was all right," Wesley said quietly, opening the passenger side back door for a blanket-shrouded Angel to scuffle inside.  Sighing as he once again nearly got in on the passenger side, Wesley went round the car and slid behind the wheel.  "I don't intend to . . . 'lecture' her."

"Really?  That's, uh, that's pretty good of you, considering . . . Aren't you angry with her?"

"Very," Wesley sighed once again, shaking his head.  "She's dangerous, but dangerous because she's in a very, very bad place and I . . . I only wanted to help.  I think that not going to see her would only reinforce her belief that no one cares.  Beyond that, I am still her Watcher." 

"That means a lot to you, huh?"

"What?"  Wesley tilted his head back a bit, finding it fairly odd to be having a conversation with the blanket in his backseat.  "Oh, being her Watcher?  Of-of course, that's . . . uh, it's my duty, my--my life."

"So, it's not about her at all?"  Angel's tone hadn't changed at all from the first question.  There was no censure, just curiosity, which was likely why Wesley told him anything at all instead of snapping at him to mind his own business.

"It is about her.  How can it not be?  She's a Slayer, she needs a Watcher.  Buffy has her own and . . . I'm not needed there at all.  But with Faith . . . she and I are not, er, dissimilar and . . . I think I could be of help to her, and I want to be.  I want to help her."

"That's good.  Faith needs as many people to care about her as she can get right now.  She's . . . I think I got through, a little, but . . . it's hard.  It'll always be hard.  You know that, right?  If you're going to be her Watcher, if you're going to sign on for the lifetime deal, Faith's never gonna wake up one day and be over this."

"I know," Wesley said softly, sighing.  He was aware of that and he did want to help her.  He simply wasn't sure that his attempts to do so wouldn't make it all worse.

****

"Oh, lookie.  You brought me someone else to play with."  Faith's voice was snide.  She leaned back against the wall, rubbing at her manacled wrists.  "Aw, Angel, you shouldn't have.  Really."

"Actually, he brought me back from your motel room.  Was on his way to see you anyway," Angel commented, tossing Faith's duffel to the floor.

"I, uh, I wanted to see how you're doing," Wesley commented, taking in the manacles, glancing at Angel with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah, like you'd trust her with her hands free," Angel snorted, looking back toward Faith.  "I want to, though.  It'll just . . . take some time."

"And, until then, she's bound to a cold wall with barely any room to move?"  Wesley blinked at Angel, his jaw clenched.  "Animals are better treated."

"Well, most animals don't have the strength of a Slayer and a friend who can't chase them into daylight if they get loose," Angel said with a shrug, though he looked a bit sheepish.

Wesley opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, shaking his head.  "Please, Angel, I'm sure we can come up with something more comfortable than this."

"Why the fuck do you care?"  Faith snorted, shaking her head.  "Did you two practice this little speech on the way here?"

Wesley blinked at the Slayer, forehead wrinkling.  "Why would we?"

"Oh, come on!  You both want me to fall into your arms or some shit.  Want me to think you actually give a crap and aren't just scared of me.  Of what I can do."  Faith's talk was big; her voice, however, wavered just a bit, her posture slumped, eyes darting between him and Angel.

"That's not true," both he and Angel said at once.

"Could we have a few moments, please?"  Wesley asked the vampire with a small sigh.

Angel opened his mouth, looked at Faith and then back to Wesley before he nodded and left.  Wesley sighed, moving around the room, poking here and there although his mind was hardly on the décor.

"Faith.  I am your Watcher.  Until recently . . . _I_ didn't even understand what that meant.  I suppose . . . It doesn't matter.  I won't lie.  You scare the bloody hell out of me.  You strangled me and I thought I was going to die."

Wesley turned to look at her and found himself faced with a young woman, though one who could easily take his life, at least physically.  He wasn't sure if he she would feel remorse or not and that was, perhaps, what scared him the most.  Still, if he could just . . . He wasn't sure what good the truth would do, other than to give Faith a sense of where he was coming from, if that were possible.  He had nothing else to offer.

"It's not the first time I've been afraid," he said softly, ducking his head for a moment as he pushed away memories.  "And it quite certainly won't be the last.  I'm human, Faith.  A vampire could kill me, or a demon, or a stronger, quicker human.  You're not all that special, in that concern."

"Oh, thanks so much," Faith spat, glaring at him.  "At least I'm good at what I do," she growled.

"You are.  You're a very good Slayer, but you can't do this alone."  Wesley sighed, shaking his head and moving to the fireplace.  "Angel can empathize, far better than I, with what you're going through.  But Faith," Wesley turned to her then, willing her to understand.  "No one else, not even Giles, can be your Watcher.  He's Buffy's Watcher, that's . . . you and I both know there's no place for us there, in that relationship.  I can be your Watcher, Faith.  There's a reason Slayers have them.  You don't know yourself half as well as you think you do.  It burns inside you; the energy and power that define you as a Slayer, a we-warrior."

"We-warrior?  You were going to say, what?  Weapon?"  Faith looked down at her hands, the clench of her jaw obvious.

"Yes, but, uh, I no longer believe that.  If I did, I would have called the Council, regardless of what anyone else said.  If I still thought of you as a weapon, your feelings in the matter would mean nothing to me and I would have barged in here with a Council team to drag you back."

Faith's eyes swung up to meet his.  "What makes you think you know shit about me?  You can't feel it; you don't know what it's like to have this . . . this fire inside."

Wesley nodded at that.  "You _feel_ it, but I can help you _understand_ it.  I may not be able to experience it, but I'm no fool.  I've studied extensively.  Your link to Slayers past is weak, but I know, I've learned how they channeled it, drew upon it, calmed and soothed it when they had to.  I can make you stronger, faster, more at ease in your own skin when you're not slaying.  I can help you, Faith.  If you'll let me.  Letting me includes letting Angel help you, and coming back to work with us, with myself and Buffy and Rup-Giles."

Faith stared at him, apparently taken by surprise.

"Why?"  Faith shook her head, slumping back to the wall those she couldn't seem to look away.  "Why would you want to?  Make me stronger, or faster, more . . . at ease.  Why do you even care?"

Wesley opened his mouth to say . . . something, but shook his head.  "You want the truth?"  Faith nodded, narrowing her eyes.  "I need you as much as you need me.  I'm a Watcher in name only.  I love my work, but it's more than research and learning.  It's fighting, it's helping this . . . this world and I'm useless at that right now.  But I want to help, and I think you want to, in some way.  Want to help, to be something, someone.  We can do that for one another."

Faith stared at him for a long moment and Wesley stood there, feeling like a bug under a microscope, unsure what else he could say to convince her.

"Think about it, Faith, just . . . take some time and think about it.  I'll . . . I'll come back tomorrow.  Is-is there anything I can bring you?"

"Huh, other than a set of keys to these things?"  Faith snorted and shrugged, turning serious even as her forehead furrowed.  "Yeah, o-okay.  I'll, uh, I'll think about it."

Wesley gave a small smile and then slipped out of the room.

"Hey, how'd it go?"  Angel asked, pushing himself away from the wall upon which he'd been leaning, startling Wesley a bit.

"Please _stop_ doing that."

"Sorry."  Angel shrugged, giving him a worried glance.  "So?"

"Uh, I . . . I think it went well, actually.  I really think that I got through to her, a little, anyway."  Wesley shrugged, but he did feel as if he'd accomplished something.  He'd established that Faith and he needed one another and he supposed that would be a solid foundation, a good start.  He had to wonder how Rupert had gotten through to Buffy.  Perhaps, if it were still possible after they talked about their relationship, he'd ask.

"That's good.  I hope it helps."  Angel seemed a bit uncomfortable and Wesley realized he was probably intruding.

"Oh, I should go.  Uh, I would like to . . . Is there anywhere else you could put her?  I know she's unpredictable right now, but . . . she can't be comfortable and . . ."

Angel lifted an eyebrow at him, but nodded.  "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you."  Wesley turned to go when a thought struck him.  "Oh, uh, I believe Rupert wanted to ask you to, uh, do us a favor."

At that, Angel's eyebrows rose considerably.  "A favor?"

"Yes," Wesley sighed, turning to meet Angel's eyes.  "You see, there's a dead man in his bathtub and--"

Angel looked dumfounded.  "What?  I'm sorry, did--did you just say there's a dead man in Giles' bathtub?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Yes."  Wesley nodded, shoulder's slumping as he remembered the incident.  "Uh, the man killed himself after trying to attack Rupert, or abduct him or . . . God, I don't even know what they had planned."  The images played over and over in his head, Rupert, held down, no leverage to fight the bastards.  If he hadn't been there. . . Wesley felt a small rush of pride at having been there to help, quickly followed by a surge of fear.

"You all right?"  Angel took a step toward him, breaking his thoughts.

"Uh, yes. . . I don't know what they were going to do to him.  I . . ." shaking his head to clear the alarm that clenched at his stomach, Wesley swallowed hard.  "I'm all right.  But, uh, the man killed himself and we put the body in the bathtub and I believe Rupert planned to ask you to dispose of it for us tonight, while we check out a few possible connections."

Angel blinked at him and then nodded.  "Uh, right.  Sure.  Dispose of the body in Giles' bathtub.  I can--I can do that."

"Good, thank you."  Wesley shook Angel's hand, though the man seemed a bit bemused by the gesture.  Wesley hardly cared.  He walked to his car in a daze, trying to analyze the fear that had wrapped itself around him, seemingly from nowhere.

They'd been after Rupert and the man had threatened their lives.  Wesley suddenly felt a great need to get back to his lover, regardless of whether or not Rupert was alone.  He stopped by his own flat just long enough to change.  He waffled back and forth for a long moment before packing a bag and storing it in his trunk.  It had only a few things, necessities in case he should wind up spending another night at Rupert's flat.  He found himself feeling vaguely silly when he talked himself into stopping for an extra toothbrush, but if it were going to be a regular occurrence then he certainly wasn't going to do without.

He felt marginally better as he pulled in front of Rupert's flat, though he was a bit shakier than he'd have liked.  The shock, he supposed, had worn off, though he thought he'd be more . . . affected.  It worried him that he wasn't, that he could wonder whether the dead man had had a family and not feel . . . something.

Sighing, Wesley walked into the courtyard and knocked on Rupert's door.  Rupert answered it, a small, worried smile lifting his lips upon seeing Wesley standing there.  Wesley couldn't help but return that smile, though he hid it quickly as Rupert stepped aside.

The children were still there, gathered in the living room with books and apparently surprised to see him there as well.  Wesley wasn't quite sure how to act.  Honestly, he felt quite comfortable in Rupert's flat, but he didn't want the children to know that and he only hoped Rupert would understand.

"Well, find a seat," Rupert said as he passed Wesley, heading toward his armchair.  He sounded irritated, but the warm hand that rubbed across Wesley's back, out of sight of the children, belied the tone.

Wesley's eyes caught on Oz as Willow slid to the floor to make room for him on the sofa.

"Thank you," Wesley murmured, wondering whether he'd actually seen Oz's nose twitch or if he'd just imagined that.  He'd have to talk to the boy later, though it might already be too late.  His own scent would linger here, wouldn't it?  A small smile tugged at his lips, but Wesley resisted it as a book was pushed into his hands.

"Here," Oz said with a shrug.  Wesley looked down to find himself examining a bound book of older maps of Sunnydale.

"What's this?" He directed his question to the room in general, though he met Rupert's eyes.

"We're looking for sewer entrances into the cave systems at the beach," Buffy explained with a bored air, not even looking up from her own book.  "Going in the front door?  Usually not the best idea."

"Oh, of course," Wesley nodded, flipping through the book.

"Yeah," Willow chimed in, flashing a smile at him from the floor at Oz's feet.  "And we were kinda hoping you could tell us more about these caves, 'cause otherwise?  We're gonna be here till the next apocalypse."

"And dead guy's already starting to smell," Oz snorted.  "Well, little bit.  To me, anyway."  Wesley glanced over at that, Oz met his gaze steadily and shrugged.  Wesley wasn't sure what to make of that, but decided not to let it dwell on his mind.

"I should translate the rest of the passage.  I do hope there will be more description there, but I can't be certain."  Standing, Wesley set aside the book and moved to Rupert's desk without a thought, flipping through the book he'd been translating that morning and settling back into his work.

He felt eyes on him and looked up to find Rupert watching him.  The others all seemed absorbed, or at least bored enough that they weren't watching him or Rupert.  He smiled at the man, ducking his head a bit shyly and was glad to get a small smile in return before his lover turned his eyes back to his work.

"All right," Xander said, some time later, drawing Wesley's attention away from the translation.  The young man stood, shutting his book with an audible clap.  "My eyes are starting to cross and we're not going to really get anywhere until Watcherboy over there comes up with something."

"I think I may be getting there," Wesley shook his head, removing his glasses to rub at his tired eyes.  "However, it's quite convoluted and rather rambling."

"Well," Buffy shrugged.  "I should go.  I wanted to check in on Faith and Mom wants me home for dinner.  I'll come back after and see if you guys have anything, 'kay?"

Wesley wasn't even hurt that she addressed the question to Rupert instead of him.  "Faith's doing all right," he said without a thought, going back to his book.  "And I asked Angel about the body.  He agreed to dispose of it tonight."

"Thank you," Rupert's soft voice made him smile and Wesley didn't even think to hide it, already slipping back into his research.  He barely even noticed as the children left.  However, as the door clicked closed, he realized that Rupert and he were alone.

Well, actually, it was the brush of fingers across his neck that made him realize.  Glancing up, he found that worried smile focused on him once more and felt guilty about his earlier . . . well, whatever it had been.

"I'm sorry I worried you earlier," he said softly.

Rupert shrugged, half-sitting against the desk.  "It's all right.  You were clearly quite upset.  I wish I understood why."

Wesley took a deep breath, pressing his lips together and sucking them between his teeth as he tried to form the right words to answer the implied question.  "I . . . Rupert, I don't . . . Lovely, I spend all day thinking about this and I still sound just as incoherent as I did this morning."  Shaking his head at himself, Wesley looked up to meet Rupert's gaze once again.

"Why don't you think about it and I'll make us some tea."  Rupert tilted his head, examining him in that way that had once unnerved him and now made him feel . . . cared about.

"Yes, please.  Thank you."  Wesley stood, moving to the sofa and slumping onto it, his glasses dangling from his fingertips.  He twirled them between his fingers, thinking on exactly what he needed to say, needed to know.

"Here you are."  Rupert's voice didn't startle him, though he hadn't actually been expecting it.  He took the cup and saucer from Rupert with a smile, automatically leaning against him as Rupert settled onto the sofa.

"I need to know why," he said softly, focusing his eyes on the tea instead of on Rupert.  That question could change everything between them and Wesley tried to push aside the surge of panic inside him.  His eyes flicked around the room of their own volition before falling closed, the better to memorize the feel of Rupert's body against him.

"Why?"  Rupert shook his head.  "Why what?"

"Why . . . why you suddenly saw me as . . . well, something other than an annoyance."  Wesley snorted, finally forcing his eyes open to meet Rupert's once again.

Rupert blinked, glancing at his own tea as if trying to form words.  Still, his hand moved gently over the back of Wesley's neck.  Wesley found the gesture comforting, telling him that, even though he was, essentially, questioning Rupert's motives, Rupert wasn't taking it badly.

"You asked me this already."  Rupert's tone was confused, his eyebrows furrowing together.

"Yes, but, uh . . . It's different, now.  Then, I was asking why you wanted to . . . why you . . . wanted me . . ."  The words alone sent a small shiver along Wesley's skin, "You told me that you, uh, f-found me intriguing, attractive."  Wesley smiled at that, still remembering how hearing those words in Rupert's voice had affected him.  "However, that's . . . I want to know what made you see me that way.  Why, all of a sudden, you . . . I simply need to know, uh, what you're thinking."

Wesley looked up to find Rupert watching him with a small smile.  "You're worried that it's temporary?  Or that it . . .  isn't?"

"Well, uh, to be frank, I'm worried that you . . . after I was attacked, you saw me differently.  I'm worried that it's because I . . . needed you."  Wesley wasn't quite sure how to explain it.  "Oh, good Lord."  Sighing, he placed his tea on the coffee table and stood.  Pacing the floor before the fireplace, he shook his head.  "I just don't understand why you've been so . . ." He gave Rupert a searching look.

"I'm sorry.  I want to help you understand, I do, but I'm just not sure what I'm supposed to be explaining."  Rupert's eyes were sympathetic, worried and it seemed just one more example of what Wesley was trying to say.

"You've been wonderful," Wesley admitted, looking to the floor, more than a bit uncomfortable admitting just how much he'd enjoyed the past few days.  "I-I feel . . . at-at ease with you and, uh, I don't understand why you've gone to such trouble to make it so."

Rupert raised an eyebrow and Wesley thought Rupert might be wondering whether he'd lost his mind.

"What trouble?"  Rupert shook his head.  "Wesley, I-I'm sorry, but I don't think I've done anything out of the ordinary."

Wesley opened his mouth to say otherwise and then snapped it shut, considering.  He'd been going on the assumption that Rupert had been working to make him comfortable, put him at ease.  Assuming that all those touches and looks and smiles had all been . . . What?  Contrived?  No, that wasn't what he meant, but, in some ways, he had thought that.  Blinking, Wesley sat in the armchair without a though, his eyes focused on the floor, his forehead wrinkled.

"Wesley?"  Rupert moved and Wesley looked up to find the man standing next to him.  "I'm sorry if you thought I was, uh, I don't know.  I'm still rather confused."  Sitting down on the arm of the chair, Rupert reached out to brush his hand along Wesley's arm.  Again, he didn't even seem to think about it and Wesley wondered for the first time if, perhaps, Rupert touched him and smiled at him, talked to him so comfortably because he simply felt that way.

The thought astounded him for a moment.  The idea that anyone could be so . . . tender toward him was not one he'd considered and, as much as he'd trusted Rupert's motives, or had thought he had, Wesley suddenly realized that some part of him and been waiting for it all to fall apart, for Rupert to reveal what he'd really been after, or . . .

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry," he said softly, sighing.  "I've--I've only been in a very few, uh, relationships and none of them . . . They were superficial, to say the least.  I'm not used to this, Rupert."  He met the man's eyes and saw some of the worry fade, replaced with something soft he couldn't properly name.

"Well, uh, all right."  Rupert removed his glasses, slipping one end between his lips.  Wesley watched it, unable to pull his eyes away for a long moment.  "So, we'll take it slow," Rupert shrugged, giving him another of those smiles, even more charming because there was less worry to it.  "What did I do that made you uncomfortable?"

"No!"  Wesley shook his head, laughing at himself.  "No.  You weren't making me uncomfortable at all, Rupert.  Just the opposite and I . . . didn't understand why."

"You didn't understand why I was making you comfortable?"  Both Rupert's eyebrows rose with that.  "No, you said you didn't understand why I'd gone to so much trouble . . . to make you feel comfortable?  Wesley, honestly, I haven't done anything, or I haven't tried to.  I simply reacted."

"I--I know, now.  Uh, I didn't mean to imply that you were . . . My head is a very confused place at the moment," Wesley snorted, sighing and leaning against Rupert, almost without a thought.  He caught himself, but didn't stop.  He did remain a little stiff until Rupert's fingers brushed the back of his neck.  He simply wasn't used to that kind of ease, the sense that he could reach out and touch the other man at any time, or that Rupert might not even think about it, but simply do it, simply react.

"Is there anything I can do?  Besides fix us both a Scotch and move this conversation to the sofa?"

Wesley smiled at that.  "I don't know, but those both sound like a good start.  Please, uh, forgive me for being overly dramatic, I--"

"Did you mean everything you said?"  Rupert asked, cutting him off.

Wesley felt his forehead furrow.  "Of course."

"Then there's nothing for which you need apologize.  I'll go make our drinks."

Wesley moved to the sofa, working himself comfortably into the corner where he could see Rupert as they spoke.  He still had questions, worries, and he still didn't know what the hell he was doing, but he found himself a good deal calmer about that fact now.  He felt almost numb, with so many new thoughts whirling in his mind that he was unsure what to think or feel.

The idea that Rupert was simply being himself was nice.  It meant that the ease between them hadn't been something manufactured.  He liked the thought that they might simply be that way together.  Still, there were other things.  His father, for one.  He didn't know exactly know how to explain his earlier panic at the thought of others knowing, but he was all but certain Rupert would ask, would want to know.  He would have, in Rupert's place.

"All right," Rupert said, settling across from him on the sofa and handing him a Scotch.  "So, what's on your mind?"

"Well . . ." Wesley snorted and shook his head, the only words coming to mind the ones that he'd earlier dismissed.  "I want the possibility of something more with you, but the thought scares the bloody hell out of me because I don't know what it means to me and my life."  So, maybe that wasn't such a horrible way to open the conversation, though he suddenly felt very . . . exposed.

Rupert's eyebrows rose again and Wesley worried jokingly to himself that they might get stuck that way.

"I see.  Wesley, this relationship is very new.  I enjoy your company and I'm extremely attracted to you.  I'm glad we both want that possibility, but . . . it's not anything we have to worry about now.  I never should have brought up the children, but, uh, I wanted to know what you thought.  It seemed--seems--important."  Shrugging, Rupert reached out and touched his knee.

Wesley smiled, laying his own hand on top of Rupert's, trying to explain.  "I know that.  I do.  I know that it's just the possibility of more, and certainly no guarantee."  Why did those words hurt?  Wesley pushed that thought aside for later examination.  "Still, I need to know that it wasn't just because I was, am, injured.  I really would like to, uh, explore this and if it's all based on . . . that, I . . ." Wesley looked down, hating how vulnerable he felt.  He didn't like feeling as if Rupert could reach in and twist his guts this way.

"Wesley?"  Rupert stopped there and Wesley finally forced himself to meet Rupert's eyes.  "I enjoy your company.  Even before the attack, when we were researching and you weren't trying to show me up, or battling with me for control, you were good company."

Wesley shook his head, sighing.  "You do realize that this relationship doesn't mean I'm going to back down if I--"

"Of course," Rupert said, a smile on his lips.  "I would never expect you to go against your own beliefs and principles simply because we disagree.  I'm not saying I don't know you'll be an utter prat now and again, and," he said as he raised his hand to keep Wesley from cutting in, "I know you're more than likely to think the same of me from time to time."  Wesley raised an eyebrow at that, but gestured for Rupert to continue.  "The reason, uh, things changed after . . . Wesley, I was very worried about you, not that I-I shouldn't have been, but . . . I found myself quite angry on your behalf and, frankly, I just didn't expect to connect such, er, depth of-of feeling to you, and I know that sounds callous, but--"

"It doesn't," Wesley contradicted.  "I certainly didn't expect it.  So, it _is_ because--"

"No, Wes.  That's what I was getting at.  Even before the attack, I found you attractive; I enjoyed your company, when you weren't being a git.  I just didn't realize . . . I didn't realize how attracted to you I was, I suppose, or rather I simply thought it physical and nothing more.  Regardless, it wasn't just because of the attack."  Rupert squeezed his knee.  "I've . . . very much enjoyed the last few days and, while I know they're not necessarily indicative of how things will go, especially considering all that's happened, I think there have been, well, moments."  Rupert shrugged, apparently unable to find words.

Wesley bit his lips, laying his hand over Rupert's and nodding.  "I agree.  However, uh, you . . . you said--" And again with the fear.  Wesley took deep breaths, determined to see this conversation through to its end, here and now, before things could get anymore . . . 'more'.  "You said that you wouldn't want to hide, from the children, I'm sure, but . . . how far does that extend?"

Rupert opened his mouth and then closed it, sighing.  "Well, most certainly to the children.  As for anything else, as far as we're both comfortable.  I'm not exactly going to print up flyers and rain them down on Sunnydale, if that's what you're worried about, but the children would have to know.  Not-not right now, but, uh, if . . . if there were to be anything more."

Wesley nodded, a good deal relieved by that, though the thought of the children knowing still made him uneasy.  He didn't know if he could deal with them, but it wasn't something they could talk over.  He'd either be able to deal with it, or he wouldn't.  If the way he felt with Rupert was any indication . . . it might be worth whatever ribbing he took.

"Well," Wesley said with a shrug, "now that I've made a complete girl out of myself, I should get back to that translation."

Rupert chuckled at that, soft and warm, and Wesley couldn't have kept himself from smiling in return.  "I hardly think that discussing things that were obviously worrying you makes you a girl."  Rupert smiled at him, leaning in close and speaking in a low, husky voice that sent shivers along Wesley's skin.  "However, I am quite sure I know the differences so, if you'd like me to check . . . later."

Wesley's breath caught and he shook his head at himself, smiling.  Taking a deep breath, trying to calm an anxiety he knew it was probably ridiculous to feel over something so small, he reached his fingers up to brush them along Rupert's lips.

"Thank you," he said softly, thrilling at the way Giles kissed his fingertips.  "For, uh, well, everything."

"There's no need to thank me," Rupert replied, pulling back with a sigh.  "However, there is a dead man in the bathtub, a book to translate, and . . . a dead man's pockets to search.  Why don't I do the searching and you can have the translating?"

Rupert didn't look particularly thrilled at the prospect, but given that Wesley was almost sure he'd disgrace himself, again, if he had to touch that corpse, he nodded.  "And, thank you, yet again," he said eagerly, the laugh that got from Rupert doing a good bit to ease his frazzled nerves.

Wesley settled into his research, letting the words engulf him and drown out the riot of his thoughts.  Buried in the work, he didn't even hear Rupert's occasional curses from the bathroom.  The dull thump, however, was nearly impossible not to notice, especially given the rapid cursing in several languages that followed.

Wesley was out of his seat in a moment.  He found Rupert glaring at the corpse, rubbing the back of his head with one hand and gripping the leg of the man's trousers, which were down around his ankles, with the other.

The picture was so strange Wesley couldn't help his sharp bark of laughter.  Rupert turned a mild glare on him, but it quickly faded into an embarrassed smile.

"I was trying to get into his pockets," Rupert explained with a shrug.

"Are you certain that's all you were trying to get into?"  Wesley couldn't keep the laughter down.  It bubbled out and he covered his mouth to try and stifle it.

Rupert let out a laugh of his own, but then stopped to rub his head once more.  "Ow.  I hit my head."

"Here, let me take a look."  Wesley found it hard to stop laughing, but he tried, going to examine his lover's head.  There was actually a small lump and Wesley turned Rupert, checking his pupils, leaning in to brush his lips over Rupert's briefly and then feeling rather embarrassed about it.  "How did you manage this?" he asked to cover both the action and his nervousness, reaching up to touch the back of Rupert's head.

"Well, uh, it's-it's not easy, undressing a corpse," Rupert said, apparently in his own defense, though he, too, was still having a bit of trouble not laughing and his eyes were sparkling in the most inviting way.

"I wouldn't know," Wesley answered, shaking his head.  "Come on.  Have a seat and I'll make you some tea and you can . . . er, undress the corpse later."

"Well, I don't need to now," Rupert said with a smile and mock exasperation.  "After all, I have his trousers.  Let me just finish here and then I'll be out for that tea."

Watching as Rupert finished getting the trousers off the man, Wesley laughed and then turned to go and make them both a cup of tea.  He enjoyed making tea for someone beside himself.  There was a feel of ritual about it.  When it was just for himself, Wesley barely noticed doing it at all, his mind on other things.  Now, though, he found himself smiling and not quite able to say why.

Placing everything on the tray, he quickly rifled through Rupert's cupboards, feeling just a bit as if he were doing something untoward.  Snorting at himself, he found a stash of biscuits hidden in the back and set out some of those as well.  With the tray finished, he took it out into the living room to find Rupert sitting on the couch, looking over a few small bits of paper.

"Did you find anything of use?" he asked, putting the tea tray on the coffee table and moving to sit next to his lover.

"No.  Nothing.  These are all that was in his pockets.  One is apparently a receipt, though the ink is too light to read, and the other's blank.  All that trouble and we still have no idea who he was."  There was a growl in Rupert's voice and Wesley sighed, reaching out to lay his hand on the nape of his neck.

He didn't know if it was the right thing to do, but he knew it always calmed him when Rupert did it.  The smile he got from the other man, though small and distracted, was more than enough reward.

"I should go back to the book," Wesley said.  "It seems it’s the only thing we have to go on.  If I can narrow down our search tonight, I have a feeling your head, at least, will thank me for it."

Rupert snorted, leaning against him.  Wesley swallowed hard, suddenly finding himself in Rupert's usual position.  His lover seemed to need from him what he normally gave and Wesley wasn't sure he knew how to . . .

 _Stop it!_ he told the little voice in his head that was beginning to panic.  He rubbed lightly at Rupert's neck and hoped that was enough.

"I think we'll all be thanking you.  No one wants to go tromping about through those caves all night."

"Yes, I suppose you're right."  Sighing, Wesley cast an eye to the books.  Buffy would return soon and he was sure the others wouldn't be far behind.  He really should get back to work, but he didn't want to leave Rupert, didn't want to stop touching him.  The feel of his skin beneath Wesley's fingers was comforting, somehow.  Familiar, though they'd barely had time to explore one another.

"I talked to Oz," Rupert said, glancing over at him with a curious look.  "Frankly, that is a conversation I never wish to have again, but . . . I thought it would be best . . . until we'd decided how to handle things."

"He's not going to tell Willow?"  Wesley sighed his relief, accepting the cup of tea Giles handed him.  He could stay long enough to finish his tea, of course.

"Uh, he--he said he's not going to mention it to her, but if she asks him directly, well . . . He said he won't lie, but he'll try not to say anything."  Giles shrugged slightly.  "It's the best we could ask for."

"Yes, I suppose.  Uh, Angel."  He felt Giles stiffen just the slightest bit under his fingers and his brow furrowed.  It was obvious Giles didn't like Angel, but he was unsure why.  He supposed it could be because Angel was a vampire, but that seemed too narrow a view for Rupert.  "I went to pick up my car at Faith's motel and he was there getting some of her things.  He, uh, he knew . . . I asked him not to tell anyone and he agreed."

"Did he?  Well, we'll see."  Rupert didn't pull away from him, but Wesley was left with the feeling that Rupert had pulled inside himself, staring at the wall, his eyes distant.  His muscles were just a shade tenser under Wesley's rubbing fingers, his breathing just a bit harsher somehow.

"Are you all right?"  Wesley asked, confused as to what had happened.  Had he done something wrong?  Said something?

"Hmm?"  Rupert looked at him as if he'd been startled and Wesley raised an eyebrow, a bit worried.  It seemed Rupert had forgotten he was even in the room.

"I asked if you were all right."

"Oh.  Yes," Rupert gave him a weak smile, not at all the kind to which Wesley had become accustomed.  "I'm fine.  I'm sorry.  I just, uh . . . became lost in thought for a moment."

Wesley opened his mouth to pursue the topic, but he was uneasy now and he wasn't sure whether he was allowed to push.  Rupert's fingers brushed his hand then and he gave Wesley a real smile, pushing the uneasiness away.

"How about we get back to our work?  The sooner this is finished, the sooner we can come home and relax without worry of the children showing up."  Rupert sat up and Wesley ducked his head to hide a slightly confused smile.  Despite the uneasiness of a moment ago, Rupert's words stuck in his mind.  He knew the real meaning of course, but part of him liked to pretend, if only for a moment, that Rupert had called this place 'their' home, instead of simply meaning 'his' home.

Finishing the last of his tea, Wesley set his cup back on the tray.  "Right," he said.  "I should get back to translating."

There were enough confusing thoughts in Wesley's head that he welcomed the simplicities of language.  Even written in looping, running sentences, it was more straightforward than Rupert.  Hell, at the moment, it was more straightforward than he himself was and it was something he knew, something at which he was good.

There wasn't much left, really.  Still, his eyes were stinging with fatigue by the time he got to the end of the book.  He had, however, narrowed down their search to two cave complexes.  Between the texts and the maps the others had found, he was almost certain the knife would be in one of two places.

Of course, these weren't exactly small caverns.  They were complexes, though not as large as some.  Regardless, he had reason to hope that they'd get this all over with soon.  He wanted that more than just about anything.  He wanted time with Rupert, time to really get to know one another, to test out this possibility of more.

The thought made him smile, his imagination wistfully conjuring days of researching together as they had the other night.  Nights curled around one another, warmed by one another's skin and . . . other things they could do with those nights occurred to him as well.  The thought of Rupert's hands on his body; of Rupert's lips and tongue traveling his skin; of Rupert preparing him, stretching him, pressing inside him again. . . Swallowing hard, Wesley told himself to calm down.  There would be time for that later, but now they had to concentrate on other matters.

"I think I've got it," Wesley said, pulling himself from his thoughts and turning to Rupert.  Rupert sat in the living room, going through a selection of books of his own.  He looked over at Wesley, a tired smile appearing on his face.

"Good.  Now all we need is Buffy and the others.  I suppose I should begin getting the weapons ready.  Hmm."  The last was a thoughtful sound and Rupert was looking at the bits of paper he'd found on the body.

"What is it?" Wesley asked, shutting his books and tidying up the desk.

"I don't like the idea of all of us going out there with these people probably searching for the same thing.  We don't know anything about them.  Their numbers, their purpose . . . Well, we do know they're willing to die . . . and kill."

"I know," Wesley agreed with a sigh, moving to sit next to Rupert.  "It's not as though we can look them up in a book.  They're human.  Until we know what they're after, well, we have limited means of research.  They could be looking for this knife for its properties alone or . . . perhaps it has some significance.  We'll know more when we find it."

"I just don't like the idea of Willow and Xander . . . any of us," he said with a glance toward Wesley, "going out to find this thing."

"I'm not jumping for joy, either," Wesley said with a sigh.  "I-I don't understand why you let them.  I mean, I certainly couldn't stop them, but they respect you.  Why do you let them go out when they could be injured?  This isn't their fight."

Giles snorted, shaking his head.  "Isn't it?  It's their school sitting on top of the Hellmouth.  Their friends, neighbors, acquaintances suffering 'neck rupture'."    Giles shrugged and Wesley saw a weight in his eyes that he'd never noticed before.

"I don't want them getting hurt, but, then, I don't want Buffy to get hurt and, yet, daily I . . . We both do our best to prepare her to go out and fight.  We didn't choose this.  Not you, or I, or Buffy.  We had no choice.  It is our duty.  Willow and Xander and Oz, they have their own reasons, but each of them _chose_ to throw their lot in with us, to fight and not be blind like the rest of this town.  I don't think it's my place to deny them that choice.  I want them safe, but . . . it isn't as if they really can be, not here.  Coddling them is only more likely to lead to their deaths."

"So?  Why not train them," Wesley asked after a moment, his Watcher-trained mind rebelling at the thought.  "I know . . . Well, if you're not going to stop them . . . wouldn't it be better if they were trained?"

Giles nodded, smiling.  "They have an open invitation to Buffy's training sessions.  I'm not going to force them.  It's their choice to be here and it should be their choice to train."

Wesley nodded at that, remembering how often Buffy didn't even want to be at those sessions and she . . . well, she should know the value of it.  He still wasn't certain he agreed with Rupert, but he didn't want to argue about it.  Not now.  One day, when they could both think of it as an intellectual debate, when they wouldn't be taking the children out.  Then they could talk about it more rationally, less . . . Well, he wasn't quite sure if Rupert had a 'less emotionally' yet, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

He was quite enjoying Rupert's emotions at the moment, especially when the man ran his fingers over Wesley neck as he was doing and--Wesley heard the door opening and jumped to his feet, picking up several weapons and keeping his eyes firmly away from Rupert's.  If he looked at Rupert just then, he knew he'd blush.

"Hello, Watcherguys," Buffy said, voice cheerful as she walked into Rupert's flat.  "Ooh, weapons.  I want the shiniest," she joked as she came into the living room.

"Good evening, Buffy.  Wesley thinks he's narrowed it down.  We should, uh, get the others here."

There was a knock on the door and Wesley glanced toward it, stifling a chuckle when he heard Angel's voice say, "Body removal service."

Rupert looked resigned as he stood to go answer the door.

Wesley was neither stupid nor blind and he'd have had to have been both to miss the tension in the air at Angel's entrance.  Rupert greeted Angel who simply walked inside and so had to have been invited in at some time in the past, and yet he and Rupert immediately took up posts at opposite ends of the room.  Both their postures screamed of tension, and Wesley found his mind traveling paths that worried him deeply.  Unfortunately, there was very little he could do for Rupert in front of Buffy, and even less he could ask.

"We need to call Willow and Xander, get everyone here so that we can form a strategy."  Wesley sighed, happy to have something else, even this, on which to focus.  "We're not even sure what we're going to find, if we'll find anything, so it's best if we start soon, get it over with."

"Yeah," Buffy said with a shrug, clearly not oblivious to the tension in the room, but ignoring it.  Apparently whatever lay between Rupert and Angel was bad enough that she'd rather listen than fight him.  Wesley couldn't say he was relieved by that.  "So, I'll make the calls, you and Giles get the maps together, Angel gets the body.  Oh," she turned to the vampire, "Uh, how are you going to transport it?"

"I have to wait for Oz, borrow his van," Angel said with a shrug.

"Uh, why don't you take my car," Wesley offered, both to get the vampire--and the corpse--out of there more quickly and because the van would be better transport for all of them.  "We can all go in the van and you can put the body in my boot."

"Okay," Angel shrugged.  "Come help me with the body and we'll get it--"

"I'll help," Rupert said, his voice a tad sharper than Wesley had ever heard it.  It sounded almost like panic, though Wesley couldn't think why Rupert might have that reaction.  He wasn't surprised that Rupert had volunteered; he knew Wesley was squeamish about the body.  It was that something close to panic in Rupert's voice that worried him.

"No, it's fine," Wesley said, determined to deal with the body if it meant Rupert didn't have to be around someone with whom he obviously had problems.  Besides, it would likely be easier to ask Angel what was going on than ask Rupert.  Though . . . perhaps he shouldn't do that.  Would it be disloyal not to ask Rupert first?  Wesley wasn't sure and hated the uncertainty.

"Why don't I do it," Buffy volunteered with a smile that was just a bit pained around the edges.  "It'll be easier for Angel and me anyway and you two can start getting whatever maps we'll need.  Then I'll call the gang, good?"

"Thank you, Buffy," Rupert said.  She gave him a slightly worried glance, her eyes drifting consideringly to Wesley for a moment before she shook her head and accepted his keys.  

When they were gone, Wesley turned to Rupert.  He was unsure whether it would be better to show his worry, or if that might make Rupert defensive.  "What's all that about?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual even though he wasn't feeling it.

"Hmm?  What was what about?"  Rupert didn't look at him, instead flipping through the maps.

"With Angel.  The tension between the two of you?"  Wesley retrieved his translation, bringing it over to the coffee table and sitting down to go through the maps with Rupert.  Only Rupert had stopped flipping through the maps, instead staring at them blindly.

"Can, uh, can we not--not talk about this now?"  Rupert swallowed hard and Wesley felt his stomach lurch.  Whatever it was, it was painful.

"Of course, I--I'm sorry."  He laid his hand over Rupert's.  The smile he received in return was a weak thing, but it was something.

"Don't be.  We'll talk later."

Wesley nodded, turning back to the work at hand.  He wanted this over with more than anything, but just then it was a good way to take his mind off the worry, to push it into the background for a bit longer.

Buffy returned without Angel and Wesley was faintly relieved.  He didn't know how to deal with the friction between Angel and Rupert, and it was definitely two-sided.  Sighing, Wesley helped Rupert find the correct maps, listening as Buffy called the others.  It didn't take them long to arrive and when they did, all was prepared.

"So?  Do we have a where to search for the what in?" Xander asked, flopping down on the sofa and picking up the maps.

"Yes," Rupert answered.  "Wesley has narrowed it down to two cave complexes.  I'd rather we didn’t split up, as we have no idea what kind of numbers we're facing.  We're not sure of much of anything."

"Sounds good to me, but maybe . . ." Buffy shrugged, giving everyone an apologetic glance.  "Maybe I should go and look for this knife by myself?  I mean, these guys aren't playing nice.  Wesley's already pretty beat up and I don't want you guys getting hurt.  It's better if I--"

Wesley refused to glance away from the Slayer, even though he thought he might be blushing.  "No.  We're not sure how many opponents we're up against, we're not sure what to expect."  Once, he might not have cared.  He'd have sent her in there alone and thought nothing of it.  Now . . . now he saw her laughing in his head, smiling at her friends, with Rupert.  "At least this way, if retreat is necessary, we'll be in a lot better position to get everyone out alive.  Willow and Rupert--" he didn't even notice the slip in names, "--can handle the obscuring spells we've prepared, as can I, in a pinch.  Xander, Oz, and I can cover with crossbows.  We'll all try to stay out of direct--"

"Uh, whoa," Xander held up a hand and only then did Wesley realize that the children, excluding Oz, were all watching him with wide eyes, not as hostile as they had once been, but not exactly welcoming either.  "Who put you in charge?"

Wesley stood there, opened mouthed, blinking.  Damn it.  Why now?  He knew what he was doing; the plan was good; why couldn't they just listen?

"I did," Rupert said, his tone clipped but not angry.  Wesley looked over to find Rupert leaning against the mantel, arms crossed over his chest.  "We've been going over this all day while the rest of you did what you needed to.  Wesley and I have planned out all the details we could.  Now, if you'll let Wesley finish, then we'll discuss it."

Xander and Willow wore confused expressions.  Buffy seemed puzzled, but there was a hint of speculation in her eyes when she turned back to Wesley.  "All right.  So, finish," she said, glancing quickly back to Rupert before focusing on Wesley.  Her stare made him a bit nervous, more because he was wondering what was going on in her head than because of her.

"Uh, r-right."  Wesley quickly detailed what they were looking for, describing the knife as best he could.  The others all seemed to be listening, but he couldn't be sure.  He only hoped they wouldn't dismiss his warnings.  "Now, we don't know what this knife is, or does, or . . . We know very little about it except that they want it.  Given the tactics they're using, we can assume we don't want them to have it.  When we find it, none of us should touch it directly."  Wesley shrugged, sighing.  He didn't like this at all.  They knew too little, but it didn't seem they'd be learning more until he could study the knife.

There was silence around the room for a long moment.  Wesley glanced from face to face, but saw no signs of dissension.  His eyes landed on Rupert, who had ducked his head in a familiar gesture.  The man was hiding a smile.

"Well?"  Rupert asked, looking around the room.  "Is there anything we need to discuss?"  The others looked at him blankly.  "Thought not," Rupert said and turned away, flashing Wesley a quick grin.


	7. Chapter 7

They were soon on the road, packed into the back of Oz's van.  Willow was up front, Oz was driving.  Wesley and Rupert took up one side of the back while Xander and Buffy took up the other.  Xander seemed oddly sullen, Buffy just grim and serious.  Willow chattered almost endlessly and Wesley could tell she was nervous.  He'd heard from Rupert that she'd done such concealing spells before, so he worried that his cautions had set her on edge.

He wanted to reach out and touch Rupert.  He'd never admit it out loud, but fear was clenching his stomach.  He'd disgraced himself in the incident with Balthazar and he knew the others thought him a coward.  In truth, he wasn't sure he didn't agree with them.  Still, he meant to do this right, meant to . . . God, he wanted to touch Rupert, just his hand, just something to reassure himself.

 _Stop being a fool,_ the voice in his mind snapped and Wesley felt his spine straighten by reflex.

The van pulled to a stop and Wesley took a deep breath, forcing himself to follow the others out the back doors.  Oz and Willow both stood waiting and Wesley pointed to the entrance of the first of the two complexes.

"The other one is located a bit further down the beach, but should be visible once we get to the entrance of this one."  He hated the way his voice sounded, though the others didn't seem to notice the slight tremble.  Or, if they did, they kept it to themselves, for which he was immensely grateful.

Buffy tossed him a crossbow.  Wesley almost fumbled it and had to close his eyes against his own embarrassment.  Then, just for a moment, he felt Rupert press against him from behind, reaching for the stakes.  The contact would have seemed completely incidental to anyone watching.  Still, it was a comfort to Wesley, a reminder that he wasn't alone in this.  He wondered if Rupert had done it deliberately, even let his mind wander down that path a little as the others got ready.  It was a distraction and at the moment that was a very good thing indeed.

He pushed the thoughts aside, however, as soon as Buffy indicated that everyone was ready.  There was a remarkable lack of discussion, though the tension was palpable.  Everyone formed into the positions Wesley had assigned them, all of them backing Buffy as she led the way into the cave.

It was darker than Wesley had expected, which was rather stupid of him, now that he thought about it.  Xander had apparently anticipated the problem as he lifted a large torch and handed it forward to Buffy.

"Right, so . . ." Buffy stepped into the cave, and Wesley and the others followed.  Another torch clicked on behind him and he looked back to find Oz holding it.  "Here knifey, knifey," Buffy said softly, her voice edged with tension.

Wesley thought to say something about now not being the time for levity, but snapped his mouth shut against the reflex.  It was cooler inside the cave, damp and clinging, the air scented with salt and ocean.  It was almost homey, Wesley thought, and smiled.  In fact, a very inappropriate giggle nearly slipped through his lips.  He was almost certain Rupert was the only one who'd heard the stifled snort.  Rupert turned to raise an eyebrow at him.  Wesley shrugged and gave Rupert a sheepish smile.

Forcing himself to turn his mind back to the business at hand, Wesley kept his crossbow ready, eyes darting from one wall of the cavern to another.  Of course, as time passed--more than an hour--the effort of keeping his guard up was becoming exhausting.

The last few days had been . . . extraordinary, whether good or bad, in more ways than he could count.  He was still rather battered.  In fact, he was aching nearly from head to toe.  It didn’t help that he had to crouch down to get through some of the cave, bits where it wasn't tall enough for him to stand upright.  His head was beginning to hurt from trying to be vigilant in near to no light.

"Whoa," Buffy said softly and Wesley stopped at once, his body stiffening as he tried to spot whatever had made her call a halt.  "Um . . . the cave opens up a lot up here, a big ol' cavern."

Over Buffy's head, Wesley could faintly see the light of her torch bouncing around on the wall to the left.  She panned it slowly across the cavern and it landed on a small, haphazard cairn.  The thing looked old.  The stone that served as its head was greenish, owing, Wesley thought, to the damp, salt air, but the writing upon it was still clear.  There was little enough wind here and, it being safe from the water, there didn't seem to be any erosion.

"Okay," Buffy said after a moment, leading the way into the cavern.  "Is this what we were looking for?"

Rupert and he looked at each other, both shrugging.

"Well, we're looking for the knife, but this could be a good starting point."  Wesley fiddled with his cuffs.  "Rupert and I should see what we can make of that writing.  If this demon was known to frequent these caves . . ." Wesley shrugged, glancing to Rupert.  Rupert nodded, though there was a thoughtful look on his face.

"Well, then could you guys get started?" Xander asked.  "I'd like to get home some time before I have to go to school tomorrow."

Wesley nodded, following Rupert over to the stone and bending to peer at the inscriptions upon it.  It was very similar to the book and Wesley nodded at the rambling sentences and horrible grammar that were all too familiar.

****

"We have to what?" Willow asked, eyes wide.

"Uh, well, if we want to make sure the knife doesn't fall into their hands," Rupert shrugged, trailing off and Wesley straightened himself to restate the obviously unpopular actions they'd have to take.

"We have to dig him up.  What's wrong?  You've taken artifacts from graves before, yes?"  Wesley looked from Willow to Buffy to Xander.  Oz seemed to have no particular opinion on this one way or the other, but he, too, was tense.

"Well, yeah," Willow said, shrugging and still looking very uncomfortable.  "But then it was more Buffy doing the opening the sarcophagus and grabbing whatever.  I mean, we actually have to dig him up?"

"Yes," Wesley said, shrugging.  "He was the leader of a demon horde, Willow.  A very bad man.  I hardly think we can disturb his spirit where it's gone."

Willow waved that away, shaking her head.  "No, it's just creepy.  I mean, don't we want to kinda . . . I don't know--" she shrugged, but Xander jumped in.

"Maybe, keep the corpses _in_ the ground."  Xander gestured toward the grave, shuddering just a bit.  "It just seems a little wrong to take them out."

Wesley sighed, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, glad to see Rupert following suit.  The cairn wasn't anything fancy.  No mortar or anything like that.  It was, when it came down to it, a pile of loose rocks.

"If we are to keep this item out of their hands, and--" Rupert was saying.  He and Wesley both turned to the stones of the cairn and Wesley was glad to see Buffy joining them.  "--considering the lengths to which they're prepared to go for it that seems a good idea, then we're going to have to dig him up."

It took a good half hour.  Xander joined in, then Oz, and finally Willow gave in and helped as well.  Rupert kept glancing at him, Wesley noticed.  In fact, Rupert kept giving him such long looks that Wesley was worried that the others would begin to notice.  Obviously, he couldn't say anything without drawing attention, so he settled for giving Rupert looks that would communicate his worries.

Finally, with the rocks cleared, they found a sarcophagus set into the hard packed sand and dirt.  Wesley snorted, shaking his head.  "You see?  It's still just a matter of opening the sarcophagus and grabbing the, er, 'whatever'."

Willow rolled her eyes at him, but Buffy was already reaching for the lid when Wesley spotted the writing along the edge.  "Wait," he and Rupert said together, sharing a glance, and Wesley had to force himself not to smile at the humor he saw on the other man's face.

"What?"  Buffy had stopped in mid-motion, body going still and tense.

"There's, uh, there's some writing and it's better if we decipher it before you stick your hands in there," Rupert said, nodding to the grave.

"Oh.  Well, okay.  Have fun."

Snorting, Wesley knelt to get a better look.  "I'm truly getting tired of this man.  I don't know who he was, but he needed some serious instruction on grammatical sentences.  One would think he was . . . oh, yes, he probably was writing in a language he wasn't completely familiar with."

"Odd, that," Rupert added from over his shoulder.

"Yes, it is."  Wesley answered, eyes still locked on the inscription.  "Uh, well . . . beyond the general 'great and powerful', 'once and future ruler over tiny, insignificant humans', and the like, there's . . ."

"A warning," Rupert finished for him when Wesley became distracted by puzzling out the words.

"Well, not a warning exactly.  More, I think, a threat."  Wesley pushed his glasses further up his nose and then moved his finger to the words, tracing it along underneath them as he worked through it.  "Only one of strength of hand, of . . . heated?  Oh, burning.  Only one of strength of hand, of _burning_ heart--whatever that means--and warrior's . . . er. . . . soldier's?  I suppose it doesn't make much difference, but the words themselves are different, so . . . soldier.  Soldier's . . . something.  Um . . . mind?  Discipline?  Mentality?  It could mean any of the three.  Shall break?  Breech.  Shall breech the tomb of the . . . King.  King?"  Wesley snorted at that, glancing up at Rupert.  He was delighted to find in Rupert's eyes an echo of the same derision he felt for the writer.  "Sycophant," he muttered under his breath and saw Rupert's lips twitch in response.

"Uh, so . . . should I open it, or what?"  Buffy was leaning against one of the cavern walls, obviously bored, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Well, uh, I don't know."  Wesley ducked his head, sighing.  The translating bit he knew, the rest . . . He glanced to Rupert, who was eyeing the sarcophagus.  Oddly, he got the feeling Rupert wasn't simply using his eyes, as if . . . a spell?  No, that was too orderly to describe what Wesley thought Rupert was doing.  He glanced over to find Willow looking at Rupert much the same way he had been, though the speculation in her gaze was lit by a gleam of keen interest.

"Go ahead," Rupert said after a moment more.  "I don't believe it's booby-trapped, at least not the sarcophagus itself, though . . . be careful."  His voice was not wholly reassuring and Wesley moved closer to him, trying to be inconspicuous and offer Rupert his support at the same time.

Damn.  He simply hadn't anticipated how hard it would be, being close to Rupert and not able to touch him, or say the things he was thinking.  It felt odd, which was, Wesley mused as he watched Buffy push aside the tomb's lid, even more odd.  He'd never been particularly tactile and yet now he found himself wishing he could reach out, just to brush his hand over Rupert's or . . .

"Whoa."  Buffy's voice forced him to once again concentrate on the moment.  Buffy had pushed the lid toward the side of the grave on which he and Rupert stood.  The two of them had to step closer in order to see what she was 'whoa-ing' about.

The skeleton itself was interesting.  Large, oddly shaped in places, holding up far too well for the amount of time it had to have been down there.  Stranger still was the blade.  It was just as had been described, so it wasn't its appearance that startled him, but rather its placement.

"It's stuck in his ribs," Buffy commented, looking between Rupert and himself, as if she expected one of them to explain why it looked as if the demon had been killed with his own knife.

****

Wesley was nearly stumbling by the time they reached Rupert's flat.  He'd made the excuse that his car was there and so the others hadn't looked at all suspicious when he turned down Oz's offer to drop him by his place.  Buffy, unfortunately, was determined to have a talk with Rupert before going home.

However, that meant he just might have to go home as well, might have to spend the night in his lonely flat, without Rupert's warmth beside him as he slept.  Wesley was slightly surprised to realize how much that simple thing had come to mean to him, especially so quickly.  He'd slept alone for a good many years, and after just two nights with Rupert he was suddenly quite fond of not having to do so.  However, he supposed it had to happen some time; he'd have to go home eventually.  He only wished it hadn't been now.  The day had been exhausting in so many ways.  His still-battered body was extremely stiff and he ached everywhere.  Somehow that meant he should get to be with Rupert.

Shaking his head at himself, Wesley wished he could at least give his lover a proper goodbye before he left.  He couldn't, of course, with Buffy right there.  He was about to stumble to his car when Rupert's voice stopped him.

"Wesley, you can hardly drive home half asleep.  Why don't you come in for a cup of coffee while Buffy and I speak?"

"I wouldn't want to intrude," he found himself saying as he turned to face the two of them, immediately cursing himself for the automatic words.

"Nonsense.  You're barely half-awake."  Rupert glanced at Buffy, shrugging.  "We can talk out in the courtyard."  Buffy raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

Wesley was unsure what to say, how to accept without seeming overly eager.  He finally settled on simply nodding, letting his weariness show on his features.  He followed them through the courtyard and into the flat where he took a seat on one of the stools as Rupert moved into the small kitchen and Buffy leaned against the desk.

She looked down at the knife, which they'd decided was best kept at Rupert's flat.  These people already knew its location.  There was no sense in leading them to the Slayer's home when they didn't have to.  Shrugging, she set it on the desk and then looked up to find him watching her.

"What?"  Buffy asked, her voice suddenly more tired as well.

"Nothing," Wesley said with a shrug, leaning against the counter and turning his eyes into the kitchen where Rupert was putting on a pot of coffee.

"You should have let Oz drop you off at your place," Buffy said, as conversationally as she'd ever spoken to him.  "You could have come to get your car tomorrow."

"Yes," he said softly, "You're probably right."  Wesley glanced at Buffy out of the corner of his eyes, finding that his assent had apparently surprised her.  Her eyebrows lifted and furrowed together.

"I'm right about something?" she asked, her tone slightly bitter.

"I'm just as surprised as you are."  The words slipped out of his mouth before Wesley's tired mind could think to censor them.  He wanted to cringe and, in fact, thought he saw Rupert do exactly that.

_Damn._

Buffy gave him a glare.  A rather hostile silence settled in the flat.

"That, uh, that didn't come out the way I meant it," he said softly, glancing his apology at Buffy.  "I'm sorry.  Reflex."

Buffy's eyebrows rose again, higher than the last time.  "Uh, did you just apologize to me?"

Wesley snorted, his lips twitching a bit at the confusion on her face.  He couldn't help it.  She looked half-stunned.  _Now I know how to get the upper hand on a Slayer,_ he thought ruefully.

"Yes.  I didn't, er, didn't mean to be hostile . . . just then."

Buffy turned to look into the kitchen by way of the pass through, meeting Rupert's eyes as he turned around to place a cup of coffee at Wesley's elbow.

"Giles?  Is there another apocalypse coming?  I mean, there would have been an earthquake or something, right?  Some warning?"

"I, uh, I hardly think that Wesley's contrition counts as a sign of an impending apocalypse."  A small smile touched Rupert's face then and Wesley had to duck his head so that his answering smile wouldn't be so obvious to Buffy.  "Nonetheless, I'll look into it."

"Yeah, and keep an eye on him, 'cause I wouldn't put it past him."  Though the words were in a clearly joking tone, there was a hint of slyness in Buffy's eyes that made Wesley feel like shifting uncomfortably on the stool.  Was she teasing him?

"Didn't I already assure you both that I wasn't evil?"  Wesley tried to keep his tone light, but he wasn't used to this, wasn't sure what to say.  More importantly, he wasn't sure what not to say.  "What does a Watcher have to do?"

"Be fired," Buffy instantly supplied.  However, along side the humor, Wesley thought perhaps she was being completely honest, which didn't sit well with him.

 _Well, let my father or the Council find out about how I've been . . . handling things recently--in either sense in regards to my father--and I might not be far away from that,_ he thought, hating the tangle of confusion that brought to mind.

"Yes.  Well." Rupert seemed to sense his discomfort, and came out of the kitchen.  "Buffy, shall we go to the courtyard to speak?"  She nodded.

Wesley didn't watch them go.  He was too busy trying to follow any thread of his thoughts to its end.  He could hear their voices, though not their words and he didn't particularly care to try.  Shaking his head, because he was so very tired of thinking, Wesley stood.  He had the strangest urge to poke into things.  Find out what Rupert kept in his desk drawers, what books he read for leisure, assuming Rupert had any leisure time.  Wesley was quickly beginning to doubt it.


	8. Chapter 8

"Finding everything?"  Wesley was startled by Rupert's voice.  He'd been pouring another cup of coffee and nearly dropped the damnable thing as he spun around, blinking.  Rupert raised an eyebrow at him, a small smile on his face.  "Did you find everything you needed?"

Wesley snorted at his own behavior and then nodded, glancing around to see if Buffy had come back in as well.  "Yes, quite.  It's not as if it's hard.  One kitchen's much the same as another."

"Good."  Rupert sat on one of the stools, watching him.  "Buffy went home."

The last was in answer to Wesley's unspoken question and, frankly, He felt some of the tension leave him.  He hadn't realized how hard it would be not to blurt out, 'Rupert and I are sleeping together.'  Well, no, that was a bit more straightforward than he meant.  More, he was afraid that it must show in every look, in every line of his body.  Hell, he wasn't certain there shouldn't have been a big, garish neon sign on his forehead.

"Oh.  All right."  He wasn't sure what to say to that, so instead poured both himself and Rupert a cup of coffee.  He wanted to ask if he'd be staying the night again, but somehow that seemed wrong . . . desperate?  He wasn't sure what it 'seemed' anymore, but he was too tired to think it through and so thought it would be better if he didn't do anything particularly devastating.  Conversing came far too often under that heading.

He slid the cup across the counter to Rupert and then moved to take a seat beside his lover.  Rupert was still watching him, a fact which put some of the tension back in his muscles.  He felt as if he were under a microscope.

"Wesley?"  He looked up at Rupert's voice, raising his eyebrows inquiringly.  "Are you all right?"

"Hmm?"  The question surprised him.  "Yes, of course.  Why?"

"You're rather quiet," Rupert answered, reaching out to brush his fingers along Wesley arm.  The gesture was so casual, unthinking, that it brought a smile to Wesley's lips.

"I'm sorry, I'm absolutely shattered."  Just the words seemed to bring on a yawn and Wesley covered his mouth, glancing down at the coffee.  "I think I'd need a pot of this to keep my eyes open."  Rupert's chuckle had him looking back to the other man.

"Why bother?"  Rupert nodded to the sofa and then up to the loft.  "There are plenty of places to settle and close your eyes.  I promise not to take advantage of you."  The last bit was accompanied by a rather rakish smile that had Wesley's breath coming a bit faster.

"Where's the fun in that?"  The words slipped out before he had a chance to catch them and he nearly choked on his next breath.  He glanced up at Rupert to find the man looking slightly taken aback.  Lovely.  "Um, I . . . I suppose saying I didn't mean that would be transparent?"

Rupert gave him an amused smile.  "Perhaps a bit.  You seemed stiff.  After today, the caves, the cairn . . . I didn't think you'd be feeling particularly . . ."

"That didn't stop you yesterday."  Wesley knew those words were coming and he _chose_ not to stop them.  Entirely different from just blurting out what was on his mind.  Of course, he reminded himself, he had already decided he was too tired to speak.  Perhaps he should have stuck with that.

Rupert's eyebrow rose nearly to his hair line, a look of first confusion and then worry passing through his eyes.

"Now that," Wesley said with a sigh, "I didn't mean the way it came out.  I was . . . er, attempting to be . . . I don't know."  Turning back to his coffee, he sighed, realizing he'd been right in the first place.  Talking was a bad idea.

"To be what?"  Rupert asked, just as Wesley knew he would.  What he hadn't expected was for Rupert to lean closer, for Rupert's hand to slip over his back.

Wesley sighed, shaking his head as he watched Rupert lift the coffee cup to his lips.  "I was attempting to tease, I suppose, uh . . . perhaps encourage.  I--I don't know.  The idea wasn't actually fully formed before the words."  He shrugged, a self-deprecating gesture, looking once more to his coffee.

It seemed as if the ease between them was over.  Wesley found he missed it quite a bit.

"Ah," Rupert said, setting down his coffee and standing.

_Lovely, you see?  Now you've run him off.  Stupid._

Wesley was surprised when Rupert moved to stand behind him, slipping his arms around Wesley's waist and leaning his chin on Wesley's shoulder.  In fact, Wesley found himself straightening, turning to look at Rupert with a rather baffled expression.

"You didn't mean that you wish it _had_ stopped me then so much as you hope it doesn't this time as well."  Rupert's voice was low and resonant in his ear.  Wesley had to stifle a gasp.

"Uh, y-yes, actually."  Rupert began kissing his neck and Wesley bit his lip, tilting his head to the side.  "Er, for therapeutic reasons, you see," he found himself babbling, "Relaxation of muscle and . . . and . . ." Rupert nipped at his ear and Wesley lost the ability to complete the sentence.

"Oh, of course," Rupert replied.  His voice was still low, but had a teasing quality.  "Relaxation of muscle.  Release of tension.  Not at all that you simply like it when I touch you."

"Well," Wesley replied with a small, nervous laugh.  "I wouldn't go that far."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're adorable when you're nervous?"  Rupert's voice was perfectly serious.  Wesley snorted, leaning his neck further to the side to give him better access.

"No, and, were that true," he replied softly, mind more on the feel of lips and warm hands than the words coming from his mouth, "there would have been plenty of opportunity."

"Well, then perhaps it was a lack of motivation."

Wesley leaned back against Rupert's body, sighing quietly when soft lips found a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear.  "More, I'm sure, a lack of willingness to exaggerate."

"Are you saying I'm exaggerating?"  Rupert didn't sound annoyed by that, rather, as he whispered the words against Wesley's shoulder, he seemed completely unfazed.

"Perhaps," and now Wesley could hear that teasing slipping into his own voice and couldn't quite be sure where it had come from.  He was almost certain he'd never sounded that way before.  "You could, of course, be outright lying."

It must have been in his tone.  He couldn't be imagining it because Rupert didn't react to the words as one usually reacted to being accused of such things.  Instead, Wesley had to stifle another moan.  This time it was the vibrations of a chuckle that almost drew it out.

"Why would I lie?"  Rupert's hands were slipping under his shirt.  Wesley wasn't even sure when he'd un-tucked it and, as those rough fingers slid up to his chest, found he didn't actually care.

"It's rather obvious you're bent on coaxing me into your bed.  Or, perhaps, rather bent _and_ coaxing me into your bed."

Another laugh and Wesley found himself smiling, tilting his head back onto Rupert's shoulder, looking over at the man.  The sight took his breath.  The way Rupert smiled, the lines around his eyes that spoke of pure joy and . . . Wesley stared, transfixed.  Had he put that look on Rupert's face?

"I don't remember there being much 'coaxing' yesterday.  Hmmm."  Rupert put on a thoughtful look, meeting Wesley gaze.  "In fact, I remember you all but demanding to suck me off first."

Wesley was almost certain he was supposed to be crimson with shame and embarrassment.  Not that Rupert had intended him to be, but rather that he _should_ be.  Wasn't that the proper reaction when someone said such a thing?  So why was Wesley now unbearably hard?  Why was he all but lunging in to kiss Rupert, to feel that talented tongue sweep inside his mouth?  Why was he desperate for hands and teeth, and longing to be _filled_ again?

If he were kissing Rupert, he couldn't say something stupid.  If Rupert's hands were on him, touching him, he wasn't alone.  If Rupert were inside him--and just thinking of it had his cock twitching--there was no room for the thoughts that had been assaulting him all day; no room for worry or fear or pain, only room for his lover.

"Oh, God," Wesley gasped when they had to pull apart.  Rupert's hand slid up and down his chest and stomach, making muscle twitch beneath the light caresses.  He wanted to touch Rupert too, wanted to feel his lover.  Of course, it was hard to formulate a plan to reach that goal with Rupert nibbling on his neck again, teeth scraping lightly against sensitive skin.

"You taste wonderful," Rupert murmured against him.  Gulping, Wesley forced his legs to work, standing and turning to press his body against Rupert's.  The way Rupert was watching him, the look in his eyes, made Wesley feel as if his insides had suddenly heated.

"Do I?" he asked, his mind more occupied with the feel of Rupert against him.  He wanted to be bold, wanted to make Rupert feel the same way he did whenever the other man touched his body.  He leaned in, pressing his lips to Rupert's throat, moving along the line of skin that ran the edge of Rupert's shirt.

Rupert's hands moved to his back and they felt more than simply warm.  Splayed across his lower back, he could feel their heat through his clothing.  Rupert made a soft sound and Wesley echoed it, thrilling at the idea that he had caused it.  He loved it when he could draw those sounds out of Rupert.

"You do," Rupert whispered in his ear, voice low and deep.  "Absolutely wonderful."

"Then why are we still in the living room?"  Wesley asked, stomaching knotting a bit as soon as the words left his lips.  God, he was pushing.  He shouldn't be pushing.  Should he?  He might have fallen into a fit of worry then, had it not been for Rupert's teeth scraping the rim of his ear.  All his breath left him in a gasp, his hands fisting in the material of Rupert's shirt.

"Where would you rather be?"  It took Wesley a moment to process the words.

"Your bed.  Always."  He answered with an immediacy that probably should have embarrassed him.  Instead, he was thinking about Rupert's shirt and how the damn buttons were so tiny.  Of course, some part of him was also wondering just when he'd started attempting to undress Rupert.  Both thoughts were pushed away as Rupert closed in to kiss him.  This time was different than that first, lazy exploration.  Now there was pressure, the nip of teeth, thrusting tongues and their bodies in such close contact that Wesley could feel how hard Rupert's cock was as it was pressed forcefully against him.

"Then that's where we should be."

Wesley couldn't connect the words to his own at first.  He was too busy trying to move with his lover, their stumbling almost sending them to the floor a time or two.  Rupert let go of him as they reached the steps and Wesley sighed at the loss.  Then he caught the look in Rupert's eyes and hurriedly followed him up the stairs.

Rupert waited at the top and as soon as Wesley reached him they were kissing again, pressing their bodies together.  Wesley wriggled his hands between them, working the buttons of Rupert's shirt.  It was an awkward act, much hindered by the fact that neither of them seemed willing to let the other move too far away.

"God, I want you," Rupert whispered in his ear and Wesley had to snap his mouth shut, had to push aside the words that rose in answer because he couldn't respond as easily as that.  He wanted Rupert, obviously, but that seemed such a paltry word.  Want.  Even as it sent a shiver through him, it only brushed against the large, looming things inside his head.

Then they were tumbling onto the bed, lying side by side, both working on the other's clothing.  Wesley finally managed to get the last of the buttons undone.  He pushed Rupert's shirt out of the way impatiently, sighing at the feel of warm skin under his hands, at last.  Somewhere during his own efforts, Rupert had undone his shirt as well.

The vibrations of a chuckle met his lips as Wesley began kissing the skin he'd unveiled.  He ignored the sound, wanting to explore every inch of the man beside him, wanting to lick and suck and nibble the way Rupert had been doing to him.  He wanted to make Rupert as desperate for him as he was for Rupert.  It seemed an impossible task when he didn't know well enough what he was doing, but he wanted, _needed_ to see the same burning desire in Rupert that he felt.

"Wes?  We . . . oh, my.  Uh, shirts, Wes.  One of us has to stop-stop touching in order to--" Wesley drew back and stripped his shirt off impatiently, his eyes meeting Rupert's.  Finally, there was no one else around to see him return that smile, no one from whom he had to hide.  He dove back in, pushing Rupert's shirt down his arms even as he moved to lick at Rupert's neck.

Rupert moaned and Wesley answered with a small sound of his own.  He knew he should slow down.  His motions were jerky, reckless.  He threw himself into every movement, frantic, headlong, needing Rupert to want him, to _need_ him.

"Wesley?"  There was more than a hint of worry in Rupert's voice.  Wesley found uncertainty seizing him.  He stopped kissing at Rupert's shoulder, stopped his fingers from exploring the firm muscle of Rupert's back.  Slowly, he looked up, panting, afraid of what he might see in Rupert's eyes if the man had somehow seen inside his head.  "Are you all right?"

Wesley blinked and then ducked his head.  "Fine, why?"  He couldn't look at Rupert as he said it.  Instead he let his fingers slide along Rupert's skin, drawing pattern through the hair on Rupert's chest.

"Because . . . you're acting a bit odd."  Rupert didn't sound aggravated, only concerned.  It was nice, actually.

"Am I?  How?"

"Wesley?  Please.  You're acting as if we'll never get to do this again.  You seem almost panicked."  Wesley pressed his forehead against Rupert's chest, sighing.  He didn't want to talk, not after the last time.  It only led to confusion and having to think about things that he couldn't sort out.  It didn't solve a damn thing.

"I just . . ." He began, sighing and then raising his eyes to meet Rupert's again.  The worry there took him aback.  He'd heard the concern of course, but to see someone looking at him that way, as if he and his thoughts were all that mattered at the moment.  It was . . . disconcerting.  "I don't want to talk about it."  He found the words slipping out of his lips before he'd even thought them through.  Deciding he might as well say the rest as well, he shrugged self-consciously.  "I need you inside me.  Want-want you to f-fuck me."

Wesley was almost certain he'd never seen that look on Rupert's face before, so hot and openly lustful.  Of course, that could have been because he hadn't actually been able to see Rupert the last time they'd . . . had sex.

"You're certain you don't want to discuss--"

Wesley's frustration overwhelmed him.  He shot up, pressing his mouth over Rupert's in an attempt to distract him.  Either Rupert gave in or he simply was overwhelmed.  The kiss was urgent, intense, and not just from Wesley's end.  Rupert seemed to be trying to devour him and Wesley was just as diligent.

Wesley flagging erection came quickly back to life as Rupert's hands slipped down to his trousers, working the button with almost fumbling fingers.  It felt better than anything they'd ever done together, to be able to feel the evidence of Rupert's attraction to him.  Not just the hard cock he could feel whenever their bodies met.  It was more than that.  So many things could cause an erection; rubbing against one's trousers just the right way could do that.  It took something more to make a man like Rupert fumble with buttons, to make his kisses hard and demanding, to make his control slip.

Wesley reveled in the onslaught of hot hands all over his body; even the sound of the fabric ripping slightly as Rupert finally got Wesley's trousers undone seemed erotic.  He kissed Rupert just as frantically as he was being kissed.  Wesley hissed as Rupert broke the kiss and dragged Wesley's trouser and boxers down his hips.  The rough fabric scraped over Wesley's aching cock and he moaned, his back arching, hips pushing forward for more.

Rupert's lips were on his neck again, teeth dragging along sensitive flesh.  Wesley knew he was the one making those small, desperate sounds, but he didn't care.  He wasn't alone in the urgent ache of his cock, the need to touch and be touched.  His fingers found Rupert's dick, straining against his hand.  He stroked it through the material, gasping when Rupert groaned and pushed hard into his hand.

Wesley tore at the button of Rupert's trousers, pulling the zip and thrusting his hand inside until he could wrap his fingers around Rupert's shaft, his thumb rubbing over the slick head.  Then they were kissing again, so hard that Wesley could feel the press of teeth.  Rupert's hands were no more gentle than his lips.  Wesley thrust wildly into that tight grip, fisting Rupert tighter as well, squeezing Rupert's erection and loving the growl that earned him.

For a while they moved in concert, both thrusting wildly, rocking their bodies together.  Then Rupert released his cock.  Wesley whimpered into his lover's mouth, pushing forward, his need for more urgent and almost consuming.  Rupert's fingers pulled at Wesley's grip.  Wesley began to pull away as he released Rupert's shaft, the words, 'what's wrong?' forming on his lips, only to be stolen away when Rupert surged forward.  Their bodies slammed together, cock grinding against cock.

Wesley shouted at the feel of it, the way their bodies fitted together, cocks sliding alongside one another, precum smoothing the way.  He found himself panting, face buried in the crook of Rupert's neck, sweat-slicked bodies pressed tight.

Rupert was speaking, his words mostly a blur of nonsense.  Then he said Wesley's name, urgency almost dripping from his tone.  Wesley felt his balls begin to draw up, his heart picking up to an almost ridiculous pace.

"God," Rupert gasped.  "Wesley.  Need you."

"Please," Wesley almost sobbed against Rupert's skin.

"Flip over," Rupert said, his body shifting.  It took Wesley's fogged mind a moment to realize that Rupert was reaching for the drawer in his nightstand.

Gulping in air, Wesley turned onto his stomach and then came up onto his elbows and knees.  A whimper escaped him at the feel of even the cotton sheets against his erection.  It couldn't have taken Rupert too long to gather the lubricant and condom, but Wesley would have sworn it was an age before Rupert's hands were once again on his body.

One hand ran over his arse, making Wesley groan and press into the touch.  He heard the condom package rip, all his muscles going tense in anticipation.  Then Rupert's fingers, slick and warm, slid along the skin of his lower back, rubbing small patterns as they slid lower.  Wesley moaned, arching his back to get more of that wonderful pressure.

"Good Lord," he heard Rupert gasp, voice hoarse and low.  "You're beautiful like this, Wesley.  So wanton."

Had his mind not been totally focused on those strong fingers as they slid along his arse, he might have come at the words.  As it was, he whimpered, pressing his forehead against the pillows.

"Rupert, _please_."  Whether or not Rupert had understood his muffled urging, Wesley got what he'd wanted.  Rupert slid two fingers along his crease, pushing lightly against his entrance.  Wesley gasped, knowing he couldn't take the teasing.  Not tonight.

He was trying to get his scattered mind to find the words to say so when Rupert pushed one finger into him.  It wasn’t like the last time they'd done this.  Rupert's entrance wasn't slow.  The burn of it, the feeling of being stretched, filled Wesley's awareness, his body trembling as he fought to stay upright.  It hurt, but not so much as the last time, and Wesley was too aroused to truly care.

He shuddered, a long groan spilling from his throat.  He heard Rupert echo it.  Wesley thrust back and Rupert's finger brushed his prostate.  Wesley all but screamed, muffling the sound in the pillows as he thrust himself back.  He could hear Rupert panting, could feel the man's grip digging into his hip.  Rupert thrust another finger inside him and Wesley began to whimper eagerly each time he rocked backward, fucking himself on Rupert's hand.

A third finger pressed inside and Wesley froze, the burn filling him for a long moment, even as his balls tightened.  "Rupert!"

The fingers withdrew.  Vaguely, he was aware of Rupert's voice, low and intense.  Wesley panted, trying to catch some of his breath.  The head of Rupert's cock pressed against his entrance.  It took a long moment for Rupert's words to penetrate the fog of Wesley's arousal.

"Wes?"  One strong hand was massaging his arse.

"Rupert, I . . . please."  Wesley pushed backward, choking on a gasp as the head of Rupert's cock breeched his entrance and the burn exploded through him.  He heard Rupert groan before both the man's hands closed over his hips, grip tight to keep him from moving.

"Say it again."  Wesley had to stretch his mind to its current limits before he understood what Rupert was asking.

"Need you inside me," he panted out.  "I . . . God, I want to have you fucking me."

Rupert thrust forward hard.  Wesley choked out a shout, his body and mind reeling as Rupert withdrew and slammed in again.  Planting his hands against the headboard, Wesley met each thrust, only half aware of the words falling from his lips.  He began pounding backwards again, fucking himself on Rupert's cock as Rupert bent over him.  Wesley moaned at the feel of lips and teeth against his back, the feel of fingers pressing hard into his hips.  Then Rupert straightened, one hand slipping along Wesley's slick skin, reaching around to grasp for his swollen cock.  Wesley almost passed out from the sensations ricocheting through his body.

Wesley arched, spine bowing.  Rupert pumped him in counter-rhythm to each thrust of his cock and Wesley gave in, his balls drawing up hard and fast as orgasm slammed him.  He realized he was moaning Rupert's name, but the only thing beyond that that registered were the pulses of sensation that ripped along his nerves.

Rupert continued to milk his cock as he moved inside Wesley and then went still.  A loud groan, the whisper of Wesley's name, and then Rupert collapsed against him, sending them both to the bed.

Wesley tired desperately to catch his breath.  His body felt even more bruised than it had been, but also more relaxed.  Rupert rolled off of him and Wesley made a slight, disappointed noise as Rupert's cocked pulled out of him.

Wesley found the strength to lift his head, turning to look at Rupert.  He smiled at the picture his lover made.  Naked, spent, sweaty and rumpled, Rupert was panting as hard as he was, his eyes heavy-lidded and his limbs sprawling.  What was even more amazing to Wesley than the state Rupert was in was that _he_ had been the one to cause it.

Rupert's face turned toward him, their eyes meeting.  Wesley's chest clenched at the smile he found there and he smiled back.  Rupert adjusted one of his arms, raising an eyebrow and inviting Wesley closer with a nod of his head.

Wesley scooted nearer, tucking himself against Rupert's side.  He let his hand slide down Rupert's chest, settling low on his stomach.  Rupert's hand came up to cover it and Wesley smiled against Rupert's shoulder.

They stayed that way, both regaining their breath.  Wesley felt himself dozing, more comfortable and content than he could ever remember being.  There were no words between them, no need for them, only the ease that Wesley so treasured.  The silence was filled with soft breathing, hearts returning to their normal rhythm, the hushed sound of skin against skin as they both arranged themselves comfortably.

"At least this day ended well," Rupert murmured.

Wesley smiled, feeling oddly proud of himself.  He began to analyze that feeling and then stopped when it began to lead toward questions he didn't want to consider.  "It's a better ending than I'd expected," he admitted.  "I felt certain someone would wind up injured."

Rupert chuckled, causing Wesley to look up at him, slightly confused.  "Because of the cave and the mad cult?  I assume you didn't mean because of the sex."

Wesley snorted his amusement, fondly shaking his head at Rupert.  "Of course because of the cave and the cult."

Silence settled over them once again and, again, Rupert was the one to break it.  "How are you feeling?"  Wesley glanced up at Rupert, unsure what he meant by that question.  Then Rupert's hand moved over Wesley's back, firmly enough to remind Wesley of the bruises without actually causing pain.

"Oh, uh, b-bruised," Wesley admitted with a shrug, "but far more relaxed," he added with a shy smile.

Rupert smiled in reply, but said nothing.  Wesley settled back into his doze, sighing contentedly.  It was a few moments later that Rupert reached up to turn off the bedside lamp.  As he did, he said, "I'm ready to listen whenever you decide to tell me what that was all about."

Wesley blinked, body tensing slightly as he waited for Rupert to say more, to push.  Several moments passed without a word, the gentle easiness between them apparently intact.  Rupert's hand moved sleepily over his skin, lulling Wesley, relaxing him again.

"Goodnight, Rupert," he said quietly.

"Goodnight, love."  Rupert's half-asleep murmur was so soft Wesley could almost convince himself he hadn't heard correctly.

It took Wesley a long while to fall asleep.  He laid there, staring into the semi-darkness.  The lamps downstairs were still on, but did little to provide light in the loft.  He moved enough to look up at Rupert's face, trying to puzzle out what he'd heard and what he'd wanted to hear.

The questions wouldn't leave him alone.  They crowded close, working hard to invade what peace Wesley had managed to scrape together for himself.  His father's voice occasionally managed to slip through his resolve not to think about all of that yet.  Usually, it did so just as Wesley thought he was about to doze off and it was always accompanied by a twinge of fear.

His father would never understand his choice of bedmates and most certainly never approve.  He could almost imagine the look on his father's face if he ever found out.  That expression that said he was appalled, but not really surprised, because he expected Wesley to fail, to screw up.

Wesley finally managed a light doze, just beginning to drift into true sleep when the phone rang.  He started awake, blinking and disoriented.  Rupert's hand brushed his shoulder and Wesley glanced over to see him blinking as well.

Rupert gave him a brief smile before turning to grab the receiver.  "Hello?"  His voice was rough with sleep and Wesley leaned back against the headboard.  Almost without a thought, Wesley laid a hand on Rupert's arm.  Reassurance.  A call at--Wesley glanced at the clock--three in the morning was most certainly not a good sign.

"Damn," Rupert muttered, his eyes moving to Wesley.  "Right.  I'll go.  Be careful.  I will."

Hanging up the phone, Rupert sighed, his mouth open as if he were trying to decide how to say something.

"What happened?"  Wesley felt his body tense.

"Faith's missing.  Uh--" Before Rupert could continue, Wesley was on his feet, reaching for his clothing and pulling them on hurriedly.

"--there were some traces of . . . ash in the mansion."  Rupert threw the covers back, beginning to dress as well.  Wesley was too distracted to notice that at first.  In fact, he turned, about to snap at the man for wasting time, only to find Rupert buttoning up his shirt as he spoke.  "Angel thinks there were two or three vampires.  He, uh, it smelled like blood, but not much, just a small amount."

"Will Angel be able to track her by it?"  Wesley finished with his shirt, glancing down at his trousers and grimacing at the small tear around the button.  Pushing thoughts of earlier out of his mind, Wesley cast about for his shoes and socks.  He'd kicked them off and one shoe had, somehow, wound up under the bed.

"No.  We're going to have to look for her.  Buffy's taking the docks.  She's sent Xander and Willow to check Faith's haunts.  You and I are to go and get her motel room."

Wesley started at that, raising his eyebrows.  "She, uh, she . . . how did she know I was . . ."

Rupert looked over at him, confusion obvious on his features.  Wesley motioned to the bed.

"Oh, no . . . uh," he looked away then, suddenly extremely interested in getting his feet in his shoes.  "She didn't actually mention you."

"Oh."  Wesley wondered if she'd call his flat.  Then he discarded the idea.  If she'd intended him to be in on this, she'd have likely told Rupert to call him.  "Right."

Wesley was quiet as he and Rupert left the flat, his mind turning over and over his last meeting with Faith.  He'd thought he was breaking through to her, thought he was getting somewhere.  Maybe she hadn't run away.  Maybe . . . maybe she'd only pursued a vampire and she'd return?  He wasn't sure if he could even convince himself of that.  As he slid into Rupert's car, he found himself unsure whether he should be hoping she'd run away or not.  He'd rather that than her being dead.

That last was a bit of surprise, actually.  Wesley felt almost ashamed to admit it, but when he'd first arrived here, he probably wouldn't have thought that way.  Faith was a Slayer. It would have been worse for the Council to lose her services than for her to die.  After all, if she died, another would be called.

Disgusted with himself, Wesley stared out of the window as if he actually believed he'd catch a glimpse of her on the quiet streets.

"Wesley?"  Rupert's voice was soft, as if he were reluctant to break into Wesley's thoughts.  "We'll find her."

"You don't know that," Wesley replied softly, his mind conjuring image of Faith rising as a vampire, pushing up through the dirt, face contorted with rage and hunger.  He wondered if Buffy would be able to stake her.  "You don't know that 'finding her' will be a good thing."

"No, but it does us no good to think otherwise."  Rupert had a point there.  Wesley snorted and then glanced over.  Rupert looked at him as they stopped at a red light.  Wesley nodded his agreement and motioned to the light.

"Rupert, there's no one on the road and we're in a hurry."

It was Rupert's turn to snort.  He turned back to the street and ran the red light.


	9. Chapter 9

Faith wasn't in her motel room.  It was obvious that things were missing, but he didn't know if that was because Angel had taken them to her or if she'd come to get them.  Her clothing was gone, but there was a stack of magazines still on one dresser, a half-whittled stake stuck between the bed and the wall.  It could have meant either, honestly, and Wesley shook his head.

His throat was aching again, parched from anxiety and his only memories of this room.  He could almost see Faith, if he tried.  Her eyes were so very angry as he tried to offer help and then . . . he turned toward the corner of the room, seeing it all play out in his head.  He wondered if he'd looked as terrified as he did in his imagination.

Rupert's hand on his shoulder made him jump.  He glanced backward and then ducked his head so that Rupert wouldn't see his thoughts.  He dreaded whatever questions Rupert would ask, dreaded trying to find words and squeezing them through the ache in his throat.  Faith scared the hell out of him.  She might have killed him and he still worried about her.  It felt odd, especially considering that just a week ago he wouldn't have worried in this way.  A week ago, before she tried to hurt him, he wouldn't have dreaded finding her body.  The whole situation had him off balance.  Rupert's arms slipped around him, pulling him back against a warm, firm body.

"She's not here, obviously.  We can go back to my flat, check the answering machine.  If Buffy or one of the others found her, they'll call to let me know."

"Buffy wasn't going to call me, was she?  She wasn't going to ask for me to help."  Wesley was surprised at how hoarse he sounded.  He shouldn't have been, given the way his throat felt, but that didn't seem to matter.

"I . . . I don't know.  She should have.  She might have.  We can drop by your flat to check, if you like."  Rupert sighed and Wesley couldn't almost feel the weight of it, the weight of the emotion behind it.  Even if he couldn't identify what that emotion was.  "But I don't think she did."

"Faith tried to kill me.  Even if . . . even if I didn't care what happened to her, one would think Buffy would at least warn me that Faith's out there again."

"If she believed that Faith would come after you she'd have called, Wesley.  I guarantee you that."  The conviction in Rupert's voice calmed him.  It was nice that someone was sure of something.  Wesley found his head a confusing place these days.  He almost longed for the days when it was simple, when all he had to do was what the Council told him.

Almost, except that the Council never held him the way Rupert did, never smiled at him the way Rupert did, and it sure as hell never called him 'love'.

The last made him unsure again.  He pulled away, giving Rupert a nervous smile.  "Right, we should . . . go by my flat and then . . . go back to yours."

There were no messages on Wesley's machine.  He stared at it for a moment before turning back to Rupert.  He found his lover looking around, investigating his flat.  It was only then that he realized Rupert had never been there before.  He watched with a small smile as Rupert investigated the books he'd left on his coffee table and wondered why he'd kept himself from doing this same thing earlier in the night.  He'd wanted to poke around Rupert's flat, but he'd thought it intrusive for him to do it.  Yet, he was touched that Rupert found him interesting enough to investigate.

Then he glanced around and shook his head.  He didn't like the things his flat said about him.  It was bare of pictures, bare of all the small things Rupert's flat held, the trinkets and statues, the antiques and the warmth.

"We should go," Wesley said, hoping the wistfulness didn't show in his voice as he cut himself off before he said, _home._

"Hmm?"  Rupert glanced up at him and nodded.  "Yes, of course.  Another time, you'll have to show me your bedroom," Rupert remarked as he walked past Wesley.  Wesley glanced toward the bedroom, thought of the simple sheets, the few pillows, his clothing hanging in his closet in too-neat rows and shook his head to himself.

"Of course.  Another time."

They left quickly, both anxious to get back and find out if anyone had called.  Wesley tried not to be so obviously despondent on the drive back.  He knew Rupert was worrying.  It was fairly obvious by the way the man kept glancing over at him, kept starting to speak and then stopping.

"She's a Slayer, Wesley.  More than capable of handling herself.  If she can take out three vampires even while chained . . . she's going to be fine."

"But will she be back?" Wesley asked and then shook his head.  "I'm sorry.  It's just . . . I thought she understood.  I thought I had gotten through to her.  I-I thought I'd done something useful, to both her and . . ." _you_.

"This isn't your fault," Rupert said with a sigh.  "Wesley, we all made mistakes when it comes to Faith.  We all could have handled this better, right from her appearance in Sunnydale.  You've had the least amount of time with her and, while it's been eventful, her actions don't rest on your shoulders."

"I'm her Watcher," Wesley said simply, slightly angry that Rupert didn't see that. If anyone should understand, it should be Rupert.  No matter what came before, he was her Watcher, she was his responsibility.

"I know," Rupert finally said, sighing.  "And it's therefore your responsibility to find her and to try to help her deal with what's happened.  If she can't deal with it, for whatever reason, _that_ is not your fault."

Wesley opened his mouth to argue and then shook his head, turning to look back out the window.  He didn't understand why Rupert couldn't see it, see that it was his job to keep the Slayer . . . slaying, to keep her to her duty.  Not for the Council, or at least, not completely anymore.  He still felt the Council was necessary, their experience and years of research an asset and their approval needed.  He was willing to admit that their techniques didn't take things into account properly.  However, Faith's duty was to the world and that was an even greater responsibility.  He was her Watcher and he was to keep her steadfast, to keep her focused, both for her own sake and her duties.

Now, it seemed he'd failed before he'd even really got the chance to try.

Rupert's hand settled onto his knee.  Wesley glanced over, but found Rupert focused on the road and leaving him to his thoughts.  The small gesture brought a fleeting smile to his lips.

****

Wesley sat on Rupert's couch, holding his head in his hands.  There had been a message from Willow and Xander on Rupert's machine.  There was no sign of Faith in her usual places.  Now it was down to Buffy.  Wesley couldn't remember where Rupert had said she was looking.  He remembered very little except Rupert telling him that Faith was gone and then a mad dash for his clothing.

He was wracking his brain, but Rupert was right in that he knew Faith less than the others did.  He thought about checking that club the children frequented, but he was sure that Willow and Xander had already thought of that.

"Here."  Rupert's hand, holding a cup and saucer, appeared before his eyes.  He straightened, taking it and giving Rupert an appreciative smile in return.

"Thank you."

Rupert sat on the couch beside him.  Wesley lost himself in thought for a while, trying to think of other places they could check for Faith.  After some time, he realized he could feel Rupert's eyes upon him.  He looked over to find Rupert watching him with a faintly puzzled expression.

"Yes?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

Rupert shook his head slightly, sipping at his own tea.  "I was wondering whether or not you've noticed that it's laced with Scotch."

Wesley blinked down at his tea, blushing when he realized he'd sipped a good half the cup and, no, he hadn't noticed.  Snorting, he put the cup aside, shaking his head.  "I was . . . thinking."

"So I saw.  Anything you'd like to share?"

Wesley opened his mouth and then closed it.  There was so much on his mind he wasn't even sure where to begin, had he been certain he wanted to at all.  There was his father and the Council.  There was Faith and all the issues involved with her.  There was Rupert himself, and all that came with him, just as much a mess in Wesley's head as the other two, though there were more pleasant thoughts mixed in as well.

Wesley wished those three things didn't seem to conflict so strongly.  Faith conflicted with both, in some ways.  The Council, his father included, would not like his thoughts on training her, would not like that Wesley had not only considered, but agreed with some of Rupert's methods.  Rupert . . . Wesley didn't know what Rupert thought of his remaining with the Council, of his continued respect for the institution, if not all their dictates.  Faith herself . . . he had no idea about.

He was about to broach the subject, but was cut off by a knock on the door and Buffy's voice.  "Giles?  You in there?"

Wesley froze, watching as Rupert sighed.  "Uh, could you . . . go upstairs?"  Rupert didn't seem to like to ask, but Wesley nodded quickly, taking his tea.  He could tell that Rupert was nervous.  As he moved toward the stairs, Wesley brushed his arm against Rupert's and stopped just long enough to kiss him lightly.

The smile that got him as Rupert turned to watch him go was more than enough to let Wesley know he'd done the right thing.  Settling himself on the bed, far enough back that he couldn’t be seen from below, Wesley set his tea on the nightstand beside him.  He'd mainly taken it because two teacups would be suspicious, but at this point . . . with an inaudible snort as he heard Rupert open the door, Wesley downed the rest of it.

He hadn't intended to listen in, but there was very little else he could do, and he wanted to know.  He deserved to know.

"Giles, good!"  Buffy sounded upset, but not overly so.

"Buffy.  You’re shaking.  Sit down," Rupert said and Wesley heard the scrape of a chair.  He bit his lip, desperate to hear what had happened, but knowing he couldn't call out.

"I found Faith at the docks."  Buffy sounded confused, her voice soft after that first exclamation.  Wesley leaned closer, listening hard.  "She was going to jump ship, but, well there was a fight, her and me and then some vampires jumped in.  One of them was Trick, he's . . . he's dust.  Faith staked him.  He was about to bite me.  And after that, we . . . we talked, er, without fists and she's . . . she's back."

"So she saved you.”  Wesley thought there was a smile in Rupert’s voice, though he couldn't be sure.  The volume made it hard to tell.

"She could have left me there to die, Giles, but she didn't." 

"She opted to come back to town with you.  That-that bodes well. She still has a lot to face before she can put this behind her."

Wesley wondered if that reminder was as much for him as for Buffy. 

"I'm not gonna give up on her."  That made Wesley nod, promising the same to himself.

"Then I think she stands a chance."

Wesley clenched his jaw with determination.  He would see to it that Faith had a chance.  One way or the other, he wouldn't fail this time.  Here, in Sunnydale, it mattered even more than it had at home.  That thought frightened him, though.  If he failed when it didn't matter, how was he ever going to hold up now that the stakes were so high?

"Okay," Buffy's voice called him back from his thoughts.  "I've gotta get home.  Sleep is definitely required.  I'll see you Monday."

"Of course."  Wesley heard Rupert's tread across the floor, heard the door open, and let out a relieved sigh.  Buffy hadn't known he was there.

"Oh, Giles?  What's Wesley's car still doing outside?"

Wesley's breathing stopped.  He covered his mouth with a hand, closing his eyes and listening.  There was barely any pause at all before Rupert answered.  "Oh, he wasn't feeling well, so I drove him home."

"Right.  See ya."

Wesley let out the breath he'd been holding, thrilled when he heard the door finally close.  A few moments later, Rupert came upstairs, a small smile on his face.  "I'm assuming you heard?"

Wesley nodded, leaning back against the headboard with a relieved sigh.  One thing settled.  He only wished it settled some of the others as well.  Still, with Faith's safety out of the way, the adrenaline was beginning to drain away and he was tired.

Rupert kicked off his shoes and began to strip off his clothing.  Wesley blinked, realizing he'd never just watched before.  He felt slightly embarrassed to simply be sitting there while Rupert unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair.  It made him feel less like a voyeur to undress as well, though he was a bit nervous about having Rupert just standing there as he did.

 _Which is silly,_ , he thought, kicking off his own shoes.  _It isn't as if Rupert hasn't seen me . . . and more._   Still, some part of Wesley felt more embarrassed without the heat of passion to blot it out.  Shaking his head at himself, he realized he might be being presumptuous, but Rupert hadn't said anything about his leaving and, just then, Wesley wanted to stay the night here.

"So, tomorrow, you'll have to . . . well, that is . . ." Rupert's words came to a halt and he turned to meet Wesley's eyes.

"What is it?"

"The Council.  I . . . I'd assumed you'd want to tell them what happened, with Faith."  Rupert shrugged, looking down to his hands as he finished with his shirt.  Wesley blinked, pausing in the unbuttoning of his own shirt as he realized he hadn't even thought about it.  Not since they'd first found out what Faith had done.  Events had moved so quickly and there'd hardly been a moment to sit back and consider.

"Well, uh . . . I don’t know."  Wesley said truthfully, trying to puzzle out what he'd tell them if he did.  'Oh, yes, she's a bit homicidal, but we're working on that,' didn't seem quite the way to break the news.

Rupert sat on the bed, pulling his trousers off, his face thoughtful.  Wesley sat opposite, his motions an echo of Rupert's and he'd have guessed he looked just as thoughtful.

"She'll . . ." they both began, stopping to let the other continue.

Rupert chuckled, sliding his boxers off.  Wesley tried not to stare, looking away with a faint blush because he wanted to look, wanted to explore and . . . though, perhaps it was best he didn't, as he didn't think he had a second go in him tonight.

"She'll need some psychiatric evaluation.  Perhaps even counseling, though it would have to be with someone who knows and that pretty much only leaves the Council."  Wesley pulled off his own trousers and pants before quickly slipping under the covers.  Rupert was lying on his back, hands stacked behind his head.

Unsure of his welcome, Wesley sat against the headboard, his mind divided between pondering the Council and deciding if the possibility of rejection was slim enough for him to take the risk and move over to cuddle with Rupert.

"That's true and . . . they have a habit of knowing things they aren't supposed to," Rupert said with a sigh.  "If you don't tell them and they find out . . . Wesley, I know you want to keep your position with the Council.  It's your decision.  Just . . . consider how they're going to react.  Faith doesn't need them--"

"I know," Wesley answered, a slight smile one his face.  Another issue resolved and in the same night.  Now he knew, he thought, how Rupert felt about his continued working with the Council.  Deciding the risk was worth it, Wesley slid over, laying his head on Rupert's shoulder, tense until Rupert's arm slipped around him.

"Of course you do," Rupert answered with a self-deprecating shrug.  "I'm sorry. I trust you to know what you're doing."

Wesley felt his breath catch and bit his lip to keep from making a sound as he considered those words.  _I trust you to know what you're doing._   They echoed in his head, spinning around and around so that he could look at them from every angle, dissect them for a hidden meaning.

There was nothing, no disguised malice, just a simple confidence in him that had him reeling.  Rupert trusted him, believed in his competence.  The thought was both wonderful and terrifying.  He didn't want to let Rupert down as he kept letting his father down.  He wasn't sure if he could face that look of disappointment from his lover.  However, it felt . . . amazing to have someone say they believed in him.

The silence between them had returned, easy and comfortable.  Wesley continued to roll that thought through his head, letting it lead to others as he started to doze.

"Do you mind my staying here?" Wesley found himself asking, though he'd sworn he wouldn't, mostly because he was afraid of the answer.

Rupert looked over at him with a surprised expression.  "If I did, I would have said so.  Besides, I rather enjoy your company, remember?"

Wesley felt his lips twitch and nodded.  He said nothing, however, reveling in the small amount of peace that gave him.

****

"Yes, I'm aware of what procedure demands," Wesley said, rubbing his fingers over his forehead and trying to get a word in edgewise.  God, had he sounded like this much of a prat?  "I don't happen to care, however.  Taking Faith to England, especially by force, is only going to make her feel disconnected.  She needs--"

Wesley sat through another round of questions asked too quickly to be answered.  He drummed his fingers against the desk, wishing for a cup of tea or perhaps an artifact that would allow him to reach through the phone lines.

"This is not a lecture hall.  This is the field and Faith is a troubled girl.  The last thing she needs is to feel that she can't trust us . . ." Wesley sputtered to a halt as he was asked the question he'd known was coming as soon as that 'us' had left his mouth.  It almost felt like a betrayal just to answer the only way he could.

"Buffy and myself, of course.  She and Buffy are quite close and-- Yes, I'm aware that Slayers aren't supposed to socialize, but how can you even apply that rule to this situation.  They're both Slayers!"

A cup of tea materialized before him and Wesley blinked, missing whatever it was Travers was saying as he looked up to find Rupert turning to go back to the couch and his book.  Wesley reached out, grabbing Rupert's arm.  Rupert turned to him with an inquiring look.

'Thank you,' Wesley mouthed.  The smile he gave was tired and probably not particularly encouraging, but Rupert responded in kind.  Wesley let go of Rupert's sleeve.  Struck by a sudden thought, Wesley turned back to the phone, the drone of Travers' speech filling his ear again.  "Besides, Mr. Travers, if you take Faith back to England, I'll never be able to finish my research into the amplifying effects of Slayer resonance."

"What?"  Travers' voice filled with a strange sort of covetousness.

"Uh, well, so far it's a theory, with only what I've observed in a week, but, uh--"  Rupert was looking at him over the back of the sofa, eyebrows raised and a delighted, amused smile on his face.  "It's-it's possible that, with two Slayers working side by side, their strength, speed, reflexes, even their paranormal senses are heightened."  Wesley made a desperate gesture with his freehand, certain Travers wouldn't buy it and he'd be called before a disciplinary committee.  His father would skin him alive for lying this way.

"I see."

"Well, uh, it's just a theory.  However, both score very highly on every test."

"Well, it sounds at least as if you're taking a more active roll in the Slayers' training and testing than your predecessor.  I knew it was a mistake to assign Rupert to so distant a location.  He obviously needed supervision."

Wesley bit his lip, hard.  Clearing his throat and forging ahead with his lie.  "Uh, but, in-in regards to these tests, I . . . er, I had hoped to continue them and if you carted Faith away--"

"Yes, yes.  I support your research.  If there is . . . a consonance between the two Slayers, it is certainly something we should be aware of, should study and exploit."  Wesley winced at Travers' words.  "In fact, I'll send a team out to evaluate them.  Just to get a baseline.  Then, once you've worked with them, we'll see if this amplification has any foundation."

"Uh, well, that's not strictly--"

"Oh, nonsense.  This is exactly the sort of thing of which we need to be kept apprised.  So, expect the team to arrive on Monday."

"Monday.  Uh, yes.  Of-of course."  Wesley couldn't keep the morose note from his voice, but he doubted Travers picked up on it.  After saying his goodbyes, Travers hung up, leaving Wesley listening to the returned dial tone.

"Well?"  Rupert asked, the delight gone from his face, his forehead furrowed worriedly.

"He's . . . he's sending a team to 'investigate my theory'."  Wesley sighed, letting the receiver fall back into its place on the carriage and laying his head in his hands.

"But they're not taking Faith," Rupert countered, straightening on the sofa.  "You did what you had to do, Wesley.  We'll all be under a little more . . . scrutiny, but it likely won't last long."

Wesley lifted his head, sending Rupert a tired smile in thanks for Rupert's trying to cheer him.  It wasn't working, but that was more because of what he had to do now.  If the Council were coming to Sunnydale, well, as Rupert said, they'd all be under greater scrutiny.

He stood, going to sit next to Rupert on the sofa.  Clasping his hands between his knees, he stared at them for a moment, trying to find the words to say what he had to say.  His throat felt tight with the words, his chest constricting.

"I . . . I think it would be best if we--if we didn't see one another while this team is here."  _It won't be long_ , Wesley tried to reassure himself.  "Uh, if . . ."

"Wesley?"  Raising his eyes to meet Rupert's, he was grateful for the arm Rupert slipped around him.  "I understand."

Wesley didn't think Rupert did, exactly, but he didn't care to explain it either.  Wesley knew his father had many friends and though of course he wouldn’t come himself-- _Please, let that be true_ \--he might very well send someone he trusted to report back on Wesley's activities.  Rupert was right.  This wasn't just an evaluation of the Slayers.  Wesley would be looked at as well, put under a microscope.  How could he be judged anything but wanting?  Especially after everything that had happened.  And when he failed their tests?  He'd be sent back to England.  Back home.  His father would be furious.

"Wesley?"  Apparently he'd been lost in thought for longer than he'd realized.  Rupert's fingers slid over his hand, drawing his attention.  He met Rupert's gaze and raised an eyebrow in question, the prickling in his eyes too hot and close to allow him to speak.  "You've had a lifetime of training at passing their tests.  You'll do wonderfully."

Wesley sucked in a breath at those words, but more because, seemingly, Rupert did understand.  At least part of it.  He smiled shyly, ducking his head.  "I hope that's the case," he said softly, turning his hand to squeeze Rupert's fingers.  "But, in any case, we--we have this weekend."

Rupert smiled at him, shifting so that he was leaning against Wesley's shoulder.  "I believe this calls for a crisis-free day of reading, among other things.  Are we in agreement?"  Rupert's weight felt lovely and Wesley leaned back, letting himself get sucked into that idea.  He had no idea how Rupert normally spent his weekends, but his suggestion sounded quite close to heaven.

"I think I could be persuaded," Wesley answered, accepting the book Rupert handed him and then accepting Rupert's lips against his own.

It took Rupert half of Saturday to convince Wesley that his research could be laid aside without the world ending.  Wesley snorted at that phrase, giving Rupert an unamused, or perhaps only slightly amused, glare.  Rupert only took the pen from his hand, sitting on the desk across from him and shutting the books Wesley had been working from.

"This flat is as warded as it can be.  I went out to get the paper, they grabbed me.  Never--while alive--did a cult member sneak in here.  The knife is as safe as it can be, and not only will you and I not be able to see one another, casually, again for at least a week, but we'll have to actively pretend not to be working together."

It was the last words that had swayed Wesley into setting aside his books.  Rupert smiled when Wesley leaned back in the chair and shrugged.  "What you do you suggest we do?"

Inside, despite the calm demeanor Wesley was forcing himself to display, he worried that their separation might be a good deal longer.  Hence, the burying himself in research.  He didn't want to think.

"Why don't I make brunch?  We'll eat, slowly and with time to chew our food."  Rupert stood with a small chuckle and Wesley had to admit that that sounded quite good.  His stomach admitted it more loudly, causing Rupert to laugh outright.  That sound never failed to make Wesley smile.

Saturday and Sunday passed quietly, interrupted only by the Slayers’ training on Sunday.  Wesley didn't participate, already a walking bruise.  Neither girl objected outright to his presence, though Faith seemed to be avoiding him.  He found it a bit disheartening, especially after he explained what the evaluations would likely entail and how they'd all have to work together to keep Faith in Sunnydale.

She looked away at that and he didn't understand why.  Surely, she could see that he wanted to help, that he wanted to do what he could to keep her where she wanted to be.  It wasn't as if she was hostile, of course.  He confronted her after training, when Rupert and Buffy were in the office.

"Faith?"  She turned as if startled, which was odd given that she had to have known he was there.  Of course, she could have been lost in thought.  "I . . . are you angry at me for informing the Council?"

Faith blinked, shaking her head.  "No, man, I . . . I get it.  I'm . . . I'm glad they're not going to try and drag me away, 'cause I'd hate to have to hurt them."  She shrugged, still not meeting his eyes.  "Wouldn't have gone with them."

"I know," Wesley said with a snort.  "I wouldn't have wanted you to.  You do know that my offer is still open.  I can help you center yourself, help you to make yourself better--"

"Thanks."  Faith's nervousness increased.  "I'll think about it, okay?  I . . . gotta book."

"Right.  Of course."  He watched her go with a slight uneasy feeling.  She was acting oddly, so subdued and edgy.  Of course, he couldn't imagine what she was going through right now.  Sighing, vowing to continue reaching out, Wesley turned to find Buffy watching him.  As was often the case these days, her stare was speculative.

"Don't threaten her, Wes," Buffy said softly and Wesley felt his eyebrows rise.

"What?  Why would you assume I would threaten her?"

"You're being evaluated too, right?  Want to look good for the Council."  Buffy shrugged.  "Look, if you're honestly trying to make friends.  Good, great." Buffy's face softened then.  She pulled on her backpack on with a shrug.  "After what she did to you, ya know?  It's . . . it's probably not easy for her either.  And you're probably mad, but--"

"I'm not angry," Wesley answered.  He wouldn't have admitted to the latent fear still curling in his gut, but he honestly was not angry.  "I . . . I approached the situation from the wrong angle.  She was out of control and scared.  I just want to help her, Buffy.  And you, if you're willing to let me."  He glanced up to see Rupert watching them from the doorway, but remaining aloof.

"Yeah, well.  We'll see.  I mean," Buffy turned to look at him and again she was obviously trying to understand something.  "Giles and you have been buddy-buddy and . . . I'm not saying that's bad, but I'm not saying it's good, either.  If you guys can be friends, that's great.  Giles needs more friends, 'cause obviously he's got nothing better to do than eavesdrop on other people's conversations and getting a life would be really good for him."

"Well, what do you expect when you have a conversation in the middle of my library?"  Rupert grumbled, coming out of the doorway and picking up a stack of books from the library table.  "I'll just be in the stacks."

Buffy didn't even turn to look at him, but a fond smile twitched her lips.  Rupert gave him an encouraging look before he turned and left.  After a moment, the smile left Buffy's face and she continued.  "What I’m saying is that you seem to be trying and Giles seems to think you're worth the time.  So, if you are trying, then I don't have a problem with you."  She shrugged.  "But if you're messing with Giles?  Or Faith?  You and I are gonna have a real big problem."

"Then there's no problem," Wesley answered, holding her gaze and standing his ground.  After a moment, she nodded.

"I'm late to meet Will for mochas."

Wesley fought back the, 'you're dismissed' that rose to his lips and simply watched as Buffy left.  He stood there for a moment, watching the library door swish and then settle after her exit.  He didn't even hear Rupert's approach, but he wasn't startled when the man appeared beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched.

"Give her time," Rupert whispered.  Wesley nodded, but in truth, he was encouraged by Buffy's little speech.  Some of the hostility he'd incurred had been missing from her voice and she'd been honest.  It was a start, but tomorrow the Council would come and Wesley would have to play the prat again.

 _How much of it will be play acting?_   He told the voice in his mind to shut the hell up, at least for the night.  It was the last he'd get to spend in Rupert's company, in Rupert's bed, for a while.


	10. Chapter 10

He woke early on Monday, hating that he felt so uncomfortable just lying in Rupert's bed.  He turned over slowly, so as not to wake Rupert, and watched his lover sleep for a few moments before his uneasiness wouldn't let him stay any longer.  Sighing, he eased out of the bed, somehow gratified when Rupert grumbled in his sleep.

He left a note taped to bridge of Rupert's glasses.  He would have liked to stay and see the man's expression when he fumbled for them, put them on and found Wesley's note staring him in the face.

Smiling sadly at the thought, Wesley gathered the research materials he'd been using and the few things of his that had somehow wound up at Rupert's flat.  Secretly, Wesley liked the thought that there was a piece of him here, or rather, many small pieces.  He went to get his volume of Dryden's poetry from the coffee table and then stopped.  He stared at it for a moment and then turned, leaving it there.

He wouldn't need it any time soon, and he'd be back for it.  Of course he would.

Wesley glanced back up to the loft and then left quietly.  He'd driven his own car the day before, thinking it best if he and Rupert--Giles, he should really try to call him Giles while the Council was about--arrived separately.

It was fairly cool for Sunnydale, the sun barely over the horizon.  Wesley shivered, though not really from the temperature, and slipped into his car.  His flat was as he'd left it.  He'd been there only once over the weekend.  Given that the children often went to Rupert's flat or called him there, and they'd never actually attempted to contact Wesley, it had seemed better to spend their time together at Rupert’s.

Sighing, Wesley tossed his things onto the couch and went to shower and get ready for the day.  It had been a long time since he'd chosen a suit so carefully, since he'd stared at himself in the mirror for so long, since he'd gelled his hair back so forcibly.

He was, of course, the first to arrive at the library.  He'd hoped as much, as if setting to work before even the Council team arrived gave him the higher ground.  Or perhaps he just wanted to dive into his research so he wouldn't have to think.

Setting himself up in Rupert's office, he pulled out the books he'd been using to look into the knife.  There were several references to this horde of demons that had descended upon Sunnydale, and not just the Tes'ri to whom he'd finally linked the knife's style and construction.  In fact, a few of them he remembered from his research into the place before he'd arrived.  He'd tried to find out everything about this Hellmouth, tried so hard to be prepared.  Not that it had worked.  Well, in some ways it had.  He knew more about local history than almost anyone.  He knew a good deal more about Rupert than most, he suspected.  Though the references in his records were vague for most of what was discretely called his, 'Rebellious Phase', his years in the British Museum were well documented.

Rupert had been instrumental in the recovery of several important artifacts.  His father, whom Wesley had met only once or twice, had pushed for Rupert's assignment to the Slayer.  His mother, whom Wesley had never met, was a teacher of some sort.  There had been other family records, a whole file on Rupert's father and grandmother, neither of which Wesley had read.  That had seemed a bit too intrusive even to his curious mind.  Still, even after all the research, what he'd found when he'd arrived and been very different from what he'd expected.  He certainly hadn't expected Rupert, for one.

 _Giles,_ he reminded himself.  _Perhaps even, 'Mr. Giles'._   Grimacing at that, Wesley forced his mind back to his work, only looking up again when someone cleared their throat from the doorway of the office.  He looked up to find two men and a woman, all dressed in suits much like his own, all looking so rigid he thought they might snap if they moved too quickly.

_Is that how I looked to Rupert and the others?  Did I give off such an air of disapproval?_

"Hello.  I assume you're here for the evaluations?"  Wesley stood and found it all too easy to mimic these people.  His posture was always straight, but now he felt as if he should have had his boxers starched.

"Yes, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.  Are the . . . girls here now?"  The man who asked raised both his eyebrows over the world 'girls' as if Wesley wouldn't understand whom he was speaking about otherwise.

"No.  Buffy won't be in for another hour or so yet and Faith won't arrive until about noon.  We do most of our training in the afternoons, for obvious reasons."  Wesley didn't bother to explain.  In fact, he liked the slightly puzzled look that received from two of the Watchers, the feeling of superior field knowledge making him a tad bit giddy.  He'd learned since he'd been here.  One didn't ask a teenager to stay up to all hours and then get up earlier than they absolutely had to, after all.

"Er, yes, of course.  Well, I am Mr. Fallow.  This is Mrs. Greer, and Mr. Rhodes."  Wesley shook each of their hands.  "We should discuss the tests through which we'll be putting the girls."

"Yes, of course, come in."  Wesley saw Rupert walk into the library and had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from smiling.  "Good morning, Mr. Giles," he said casually.  While he knew Rupert would understand the necessity of his formality, he still regretted it, almost loathed it.

"Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.  I see you'll be appropriating _my_ office once again."  There was a sarcastic, slightly bitter edge to Rupert's voice and Wesley had to remind himself that it was false, a farce to keep the Council from the truth of the matter.  Wesley still hated it.

The Council team stayed for three days and Wesley thought there had never been a longer three days in all his life.  It was a strain to keep up a chilly exterior in regards to Rupert.  He found himself watching the other man surreptitiously, daydreaming about how those long fingers had felt on his body, about long nights spent researching, about morning showers and meals spent debating the merits of demon slaying techniques.  He found himself daydreaming far too often.

Buffy and Faith performed, though their disdain was obvious, at least to him.  He was proud of them, though.  Not only did they do what was expected of them, but they kept to a minimum of snark in front of their evaluators.  He wasn't allowed to participate in the psychiatric exams, but from what both girls had said, it had gone well.  Though Faith seemed less sure of that and far more on edge about the whole process, but that was only natural, considering.

Fallow was with him nearly constantly and Wesley, not being a complete fool, knew that he had been assigned to assess Wesley's performance with the Slayers.  For this reason, Wesley trained the girls and Rupert stayed away as much as possible.  The tension among them all was . . . well, exactly what they were going for, but still more real than Wesley found comfortable.

Each night, Wesley went back to his flat and tried to research or read, tried to distract himself, and each night he wound up staring at the cold white walls.  He was making himself sick, ashamed of his own behavior.  He was mooning over Rupert as if it was a year they were spending apart.  Three days shouldn't feel so long.  He shouldn't spend each night in bed touching himself and thinking of Rupert's hands, Rupert's mouth, Rupert's cock.

Really, he was obsessing.  Wasn't he?  His thoughts often wandered to what Rupert was doing.  Did he think of Wesley?  Did he wank to thoughts of Wesley's body?  Wesley wanted to believe he did, but only, he told himself, to feel less foolish when he himself thought of Rupert.

When, finally, Mr. Fallow announced they'd be leaving, Wesley found it hard to keep his reply simple, and civil.

"There's only the matter of Mrs. Greer interviewing you and Faith together, as she did with you and Buffy.  Then all our evaluations will be complete and we'll be out of your hair."

Sitting at Rupert's desk with Mr. Fallow sitting opposite, sipping tea from Rupert's cups, Wesley was very hard pressed not to stand and dance a jig.

"Of course.  When can that be arranged?"  Was all Wesley said.

"You and Faith are to meet Mrs. Greer in an hour.  I've already taken the liberty of contacting Faith and telling her of the appointment."

Wesley nodded, keeping his face blankly polite, though it was becoming more and more of an effort.  The task was not made any easier when Fallow began asking questions about the knife again.  Thus far, Wesley had managed to put the man off of seeing it--it was still at Rupert's flat after all--and he'd only told him the barest of details, those recorded in his journal.

 _False reports, outright lies, a homosexual affair with a disgraced Watcher, wouldn't Father be proud?_   Hushing that voice, Wesley tried to concentrate on what Fallow was asking.

"I'm not sure of its purpose yet, but I believe I’m getting close.  The investigation seems to be pointing toward the person who gave it to the horde leader, for whom I'm still trying to find references."  Knowing what the next set of questions would be about, Wesley cut Fallow off at the pass.  "As for what the Mayor is up to, I'm working on that puzzle as well.  We know he and Mr. Trick were connected and he sent Trick to kill Faith--well, both the Slayers--thus precipitating her . . . uh, disappearance.  However, we're unsure, as of yet, why he'd go to the trouble."

Fallow raised an eyebrow at him, but Wesley turned his eyes back to his books.  It was a clear dismissal, as, technically, Wesley outranked Fallow, being the Slayers' Watcher.  Over the last few days he'd used that, reminded them all of that as often as he could without seeming uncivil.  In fact, Wesley thought he should probably feel a tad ashamed at the spark of pleasure that act gave him.

Finally, Fallow excused himself and Wesley sighed his relief.  When there was a knock on the door, he almost growled.  "Yes?"

Rupert entered, shutting the door behind him.  Wesley made a quick check that the blinds were shut and then shot to his feet.  He and Rupert met one another halfway, lips and hands tangling immediately.  Wesley moaned softly into the kiss, parting his lips and sighing at the feel of Rupert's talented tongue rubbing against his own.  The kiss was hungry, heated.  Wesley pulled Rupert's shirt from his trousers and thrust his hands underneath, loving the groan the action pulled from Rupert.

"Good Lord, I've missed that," Rupert murmured when they finally had to pull apart in order to breathe.  Both of them were panting slightly, neither of them letting go of the other.  Wesley leaned his head forehead against Rupert's, breathing deep to pull in the other man's scent.

"I'm thrilled to hear I’m not the only one," Wesley admitted, his fingers still moving over Rupert's skin, reacquainting themselves with firm muscle beneath warm flesh.

Rupert pulled back, giving Wesley an odd, almost hurt, look.  "Did you honestly believe I wouldn't miss you at all?"

Wesley opened his mouth and then shut it, his eyes flitting down to Rupert's chin as he shrugged.  He'd feared it, couldn't possibly see Rupert mooning over him the way he himself had been doing over Rupert.  In truth, he'd tried to imagine that often enough to know that the image simply didn't fit.

"Wesley?"  Wesley looked up to meet those gorgeous eyes, trying to keep his own hooded.  He didn't want Rupert to see the insecurities there.  "I missed you," Rupert whispered, smiling gently.  "I missed talking to you, missed researching with you, missed feeling you beside me at night, missed touching you."

Wesley didn't let Rupert say anything further, if indeed there was anything left to say.  He lunged forward, licking along his lover's lips and groaning when they parted beneath his tongue.  Another hungry kiss followed, their bodies rocking against one another, lips and tongues dueling and tasting.  Wesley forced himself to pull away, whimpering slightly even as he did.

"We, uh, we should-should stop, or--"

"Or one of us will wind up bent over the desk?  Yes, I agree."  Rupert leaned his head against Wesley's shoulder and so missed the slightly shocked expression on Wesley face.

Wesley blinked, trying to re-align skewed perceptions.  It wasn't the suggestion that they'd wind up having sex in the middle of the office, where anyone could walk in that had him slightly shocked.  In fact, that part had Wesley swallowing around a lump in his throat, his cock twitching at the idea.  No, it was the suggestion that Wesley might not be the one being bent over that had him blinking.

He’d honestly never considered that option before, and wasn't entirely certain how he felt about it.  Wesley pushed the thought aside for the moment.  He had a meeting to go to, after all, and showing up with an obvious hard-on would probably lose him a few points.

"I have one final meeting with the evaluators and then, uh, my evening's free.  Uh, may I come over?"  Wesley hated how nervous he sounded.  Rupert had just been saying how much he'd missed him after all, but Wesley still felt it would be rude to assume.

"Of course," Rupert chuckled against his shoulder, pulling away to meet Wesley's gaze.  The smile on his face soothed Wesley's uneasiness.  "How does seven sound?  We can have a late supper?"

Wesley smiled, leaning in to taste Rupert's lips one last time.  "It sounds wonderful," he said softly before pulling away entirely.  "And now," he said in a tone that was exaggeratedly pompous, "You must excuse me, Mr. Giles.  I have a meeting I must attend."

Rupert laughed at him and Wesley felt lighter than he had in days.  Three, to be exact.

****

Wesley grumbled to himself as he made his way through the empty school, heading for the parking lot and his car.  He wasn't as aggravated as anyone observing him might have assumed.  Though he walked through the halls muttering, 'quite adequate, what the bloody hell kind of evaluation is that,' inside he was giddy.

Another half hour and he'd be at Rupert's flat.  He let himself smile over that fact, feeling freer than he had since the evaluators had turned up.  While, rationally, he knew they hadn't been watching him every second, he'd felt as if they were and he resented the intrusion, both into his work and his private life.  He couldn't ignore their presence, however.  Not only had his work in Sunnydale been in question, but he knew Mr. Rhodes would be reporting back to his father.  The man had made no secret of it.  He'd even conveyed several messages from Roger Wyndam-Pryce.

Wesley knew he should call, knew his father wouldn't.  While he couldn't exactly say that he thought either of his parents missed him, they'd never done in the past, he did know they'd want him to check in, or perhaps 'report' was the more accurate word.  He wondered if his father would see the accomplishments he'd made.  The strides he'd taken.  Would the man hear something new in his voice?  Wesley felt different.  He felt surer of himself, or at least surer of his place here, but would his father notice that?  Surely he'd proved himself at least somewhat useful?

Clamping down on the voices that asked him why, what had he accomplished here that someone else couldn't have just as well, or better.  He reminded himself that he was working better with the Slayers.  Buffy no longer glared at him and Faith--though still nervous around him--had actually laughed at one of his jokes.  He _was_ doing some good.  Wasn't he?

Sighing, Wesley finally stopped that line of thought, turning his thoughts back to Rupert.  The task was easy.

A female scream froze him in place, mind flipping through all the women that might be in the school this late.  Buffy and her friends were the only ones that sprang to mind.  He blinked, standing in the hallway for what felt an eternity but was likely only half a second.  He dropped his briefcase, reaching inside his suit coat for the cross and holy water he kept there.

He was almost certain the scream had come from down the hall and to the right.  He turned the corner at a full speed run, slamming into Cordelia Chase and sending them both sprawling.  Landing on his arse, Wesley skidded a few feet before coming up, hard, against a wall.  He'd managed to keep a hold on his cross, but the holy water was a few feet from him.

He blinked, looking up, glasses askew, to find himself being considered by . . . Willow, her face contorted into a vampiric mask, gold eyes bright.

_Oh, dear Lord, no._

She took a step toward him.  Wesley raised the cross automatically, grabbing for the holy water and scrambling to his feet.  Willow hissed, rearing back slightly and then staring at him, her expression relating boredom rather than fear.  He stepped closer, sighing with relief when Miss Chase picked herself up and scrambled behind him.  He could have done without her clinging to his shoulders, however, and pressing herself against him was really rather out of line.

"Back foul demon!"  Wesley shouted, almost wincing at the way that sounded.  It had been rather more intimidating in his head.  "Leave this place."

"Yeah!"  Cordelia shouted from behind him.

"Don't wanna," Willow pouted.

Wesley changed his grip on the holy water, threatening to throw it.  Willow sighed heavily, grumbling something about 'no fun' as she turned and flounced off.

Wesley found himself breathing hard, staring after the girl who, just earlier that day, and been rambling excitedly about some new software.  He shook his head, found his chest tight with the thought that that girl was now . . . 

"That . . . that was Miss Rosenberg," Wesley said, glancing over to Miss Chase, who undoubtedly knew her better and must be . . . Wesley couldn't even begin to imagine how--

 _Oh, hell.  Rupert.  He must be devastated . . . or . . . oh, God._   Wesley suddenly felt sick to his stomach.  He didn't hear what Cordelia was saying, his mind already scrambling through possibilities, each one leaving him colder than the last.

"Wesley?"

"What?" he asked, shaking off his macabre thoughts.  He had to find Rupert.

"So?  Are you busy?"

Wesley blinked, unsure what had been asked.  Then his mind fitted the pieces together.  "Oh, uh, I'll take you home.  Uh, but I-I need to find Rupert."

"Oh.  Okay.  Right, 'cause Willow . . . but, I have a car."  Cordelia shrugged, but Wesley barely registered what she was saying.

"You?  Oh, yes, of course.  I'll walk you to it," Wesley was on autopilot, feeling oddly numb as he and Cordelia made their way out into the parking lot, stopping only to check the library, which was deserted.  On the way, Cordelia told him about how she'd found Willow locked in the book cage.  It seemed, then, that someone knew what had happened to Willow and hadn't had the heart to stake her.  Or there had been something else that needed attending to right away.

They weren't, in fact, parked too far from one another, luckily.  After getting Cordelia to her car, Wesley all but ran to his own, his mind cataloguing the places Rupert might be.  The library would have been his first thought, had he and Cordelia not already checked there.  Rupert's flat, of course.  Perhaps Buffy had been the one to cage Willow and she'd gone to get Rupert.

Wesley pulled up to a phone booth, promising himself that, tomorrow, he was getting a mobile.  Fumbling for change in his jacket, he almost crowed with relief when he came up with the requisite coins.

Rupert's number spilled easily even from his frantic fingers.  One ring.  Two.  Three.  The answerphone picked up.  "Rupert?  If you're there, please pick up?  Oh, God.  All right.  If you get home, don't go anywhere.  I have . . . I have to talk to you."

Hanging up, Wesley sighed, picking up the receiver again and slamming it back onto the carriage to relieve just a bit of his frustration.  He was back in the car in moments.  Where could he look?  Maybe Buffy would know where Rupert was, or . . . if something had happened to him and . . . she needed to know about Willow if she didn't already.  She and the others had been going out tonight, he vaguely remembered.

The Bronze?  Her home?  Xander's?  Should he check Rupert's flat first?  There might be signs if . . . No, he'd be foolish to go without the Slayer in case . . .

He couldn't even actually bring himself to consider it.  Instead, his mind skipped over the thought and he was decided upon looking for Buffy.  He drove faster than he should have.  The Bronze, however, was closed, at seven fifteen in the evening.  He was about to leave when he saw Buffy open one of the doors, Xander following her.  He all but leapt from the car and both of them whipped around toward him.

"Oh, God, don't you know not to make sudden moves like that?  You could get yourself knocked over the head," Buffy commented, giving him pseudo-glare which he ignored.

"Buffy, I . . . I have some horrible news.  Uh, is Rup--" Wesley saw Willow then.  He leapt backward, colliding with his car.  He was fumbling in his pocket for his cross when the slight smiles finally penetrated his brain, along with the fact that Rupert was there, standing just behind Willow.

"She's not a vampire," Buffy explained.  "There's been some, er, confusion, but she's Willow, the real Willow and the vampire Willow's back where she came from."

Wesley gave them all a suspicious look, taking in Willow's outfit with a raised eyebrow.  Willow groaned, arms coming up to cover herself.  Rupert settled the matter.  Pulling a cross from his pocket, he reached over Willow's head and held it a few inches from her face.  Willow looked at with a bored pout that wasn't entirely different from the one Wesley had seen earlier on the vampire.  However, Willow didn't cringe in the least.

"She's fine, Wesley.  We all are."

****

Wesley slumped onto Rupert's sofa, shaking his head.  "So, this Anya was trying to recover some sort of power center?  Which you, an alternate you, apparently destroyed?"

"Yes, from what I gathered," Rupert answered, taking up a position on the sofa next to Wesley.  They both had a glass of wine in hand, both exhausted from their separate emotional roller coasters.  "This was certainly not how I'd planned for tonight to go," Rupert grumbled, bringing a fleeting smile to Wesley's face.

"Yes, well, I hardly think either of us could have foreseen this."  Leaning into Rupert's side, Wesley yawned.  There was one question still nagging him, however, and he wasn't going to be able to relax until he knew.  "Why didn't you call me?  You could have reached me on the guidance counselor's phone."

Wesley looked up at Rupert for the answer, knowing some of his hurt must have shown on his face when Rupert leaned in to kiss his forehead.  "I didn't want to interrupt your interview.  The evaluators would have wanted to come along and . . . I didn't want Faith there . . . around all those civilians.  I didn't want to tip them off that we were working together.  And, honestly, there wasn't much time."

Wesley nodded, digesting all of that.  He felt a bit better knowing that Rupert had considered ringing him. 

"Are you all right?"  He asked softly, his hand moving to Rupert's stomach, picking at the fabric of his shirt.

"Well, uh, I . . . when we'd actually believed Willow was . . . it was horrible, Wesley.  I thought . . . I can't even describe it."

"I think I know," Wesley said softly, remembering the mind numbing, literally, thoughts he'd had of Rupert that way, a vampire.  Dead.  Hurt.  He wanted to ask why Rupert hadn't called him then, when he was grieving, but he supposed the answers would be the same, with the addition of the fact that, perhaps, Wesley wasn't the first person Rupert would think of for comfort.

It hurt, but he'd already known it.  Rupert had been honest about his motives for this relationship, whatever that meant.  Silence fell between them, Wesley still picking at Rupert's shirt and trying not to think about the fear, about the worry and the hurt, trying to simply be for the moment.

"This helps," Rupert said, seemingly out of nowhere.

Wesley looked up, offering Rupert a shy smile.  Hearing that eased the hurt a little.  He might not be the first person, but he was somewhere on the list, even if it was apparently farther down than he'd have liked.  "I'm glad."

"Hungry?  I, uh, obviously haven't had time to cook, but we could throw something together."

Wesley nodded against Rupert's shoulder, though neither of them moved for a long moment.  Finally, Wesley straightened, putting his wine glass on the coffee table.  "That sounds wonderful.  I have to admit, I'm starving."

"Side effect of the adrenaline," Rupert said with a snort.  "Sending the vampire--" Wesley had noticed that Rupert refused to refer to her as Willow, "--back to her dimension was a bit taxing.  I find myself hungry enough to eat almost anything."

"Even Kavis demon marrow?"  Wesley asked, smiling as he stood and headed for the pass through.  There was only room for one person in the kitchen at a time and, really, Rupert was the better cook.

"Well, if I didn't know what it was, possibly.  It actually smells rather appetizing, though it looks . . ." Rupert gave an exaggerated shudder and Wesley laughed.

"Oh, I know.  Tastes just like you'd expect something that looked that way to taste, too.  Don't know how it came to be considered a delicacy."  Rupert raised an eyebrow at him and Wesley shrugged.  "Let's just say there was an incident at school and my father turned my arse red for it and leave it at that, shall we?"

Rupert nodded, giving Wesley a speculative look.  "I'll pry it out of you later.  I think, with the proper incentive, you'll tell me all about it."

Wesley blushed, glancing away though he was smiling, his mouth going dry at the imagined scenarios those words brought to mind.  Clearing his throat, Wesley nodded.  "Feel free to try," he responded, turning and scanning the books scattered over Rupert's desk.  He couldn't help but smile when he saw that his volume of Dryden lay open on one corner.  Had Rupert been reading it?  Wesley let his fingers skim the page and smiled wider at the thought that Rupert really had missed him, had been reading it because it was his.  It was probably silly, but he let himself believe it anyway, just to feel the warmth it caused.

The rest of the books were about the knife, which lay wrapped in a piece of cloth on the edge of the desk.  Rupert must have been examining it.  Wesley pulled back the edge of the cloth, his eyes scanning the blade.  It was a beautiful weapon, really, and in absolutely perfect condition.  One would never know where it had been for last century or so.

"Sandwiches?"  Rupert's voice called from the kitchen.  Wesley turned and nodded

"That's sounds wonderful," he replied before turning back to the knife.  He glanced at what Rupert was reading and nodded, recognizing the text.  Rupert was working an angle he'd thought of, but put further down his list in importance.  It was a good idea, actually.  He knew Wesley was investigating where the knife had come from and it only made sense that both of them not cover the same ground.

Moving to push the cloth back over the knife, Wesley's finger grazed the blade and Wesley froze, his finger an inch or so away from it.  Had it been his imagination or had the thing been . . . humming?  Wesley shook his head, his forehead furrowing.

"Here we are," Rupert said, and Wesley turned to find him setting out their supper on the counter.  Wesley smiled, taking the stool next to Rupert.

"Are you going to let me in on your plans for getting me to talk?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Rupert.

"Oh, but then there'd be no surprise."  Rupert laughed, his fingers brushing over Wesley's shoulder and Wesley smiled, feeling himself relax completely.

****

Wesley woke with a shout on his lips, his body arching even as he realized a firm grip held down his hips.  His heart was pounding in his chest, his breathing coming in panting gasps.  His eyes slid down his own body, landing on Rupert lying between his legs.  Rupert stopped lapping at the head of his cock, smiling wickedly.

"Morning.  Awake, I see."

"Parts of me more than others," Wesley gasped, swallowing hard as Rupert's fingers wrapped around his hard shaft, stroking him slowly.  "Oh, good God."  The words came out on a long groan.  Rupert chuckled, his hand leaving Wesley's shaft and moving back to his hip.  Wesley watched as, without breaking eye contact, Rupert leaned in, his tongue rubbing against Wesley's foreskin.

Wesley had to fight not to buck his hips, though his hands slid automatically to Rupert's shoulder.  "Wh-what brought, uh, what . . ." Wesley couldn't find the words to finish the sentence as Rupert's lips slipped over the head of his cock, tight enough to push back his foreskin.  Rupert's tongue kept up that lapping motion and Wesley moaned, fingers gripping tighter at Rupert's shoulders.

Rupert buried his nose in Wesley's pubic hair, taking all of Wesley's aching cock into his mouth.  Wesley's back arched even as his hips remained almost flat on the bed, Rupert's hand digging into his flesh to keep him down.  The sounds coming from Wesley’s throat were almost animal as sharp sparks of pleasure flitted through his cock and out, spreading over his skin.

Rupert swallowed, throat moving around the head of Wesley's prick.  Wesley choked back a scream, his grip on Rupert's shoulders so tight it would probably leave bruises.  Rupert drew slowly back, his tongue working the shaft again, his lips tight and rubbing from side to side.  When both tongue and lips reached the head, Wesley sucked in a breath and then tried to choke out a warning.  Rupert began to suck and Wesley's balls drew up hard and he found himself making strangled noises as he came.

Rupert's lips kept moving on him, stretching out the orgasm that already had Wesley's body shuddering.  When Rupert finally let Wesley's softening cock fall from his lips, Wesley was half certain he'd died in his sleep and woken up in a very nice level of heaven.

Then Rupert was climbing up his body, their mouths coming together.  Wesley nibbled on his lover's lips before parting his own.  Tasting himself on Rupert's tongue had him groaning again.  He bucked his hips automatically, his spent cock meeting Rupert's erection.  The contact sent prickles of sensation through his sensitized shaft.

Wriggling a hand between their bodies, Wesley wrapped it around Rupert's shaft, whimpering slightly at the way his hand was pressed against his own cock as well.  He bucked again, squeezing Rupert, his thumb working its way up to the head.

"God, Wesley," Rupert panted, his head flung back, eyes closed.  Wesley stared, unable to pull his eyes away from the ecstasy so clear on his lover's features.  His hips jerked up again, his cock hardening half-heartedly at first and then more quickly as Rupert began rocking his own hips.  Wesley squeezed one last time, loving the groans it pulled from Rupert.

Then he pulled his hand away, almost shouting when Rupert's hard cock met with his own half-hard and extremely sensitive flesh.  They rocked together, Wesley wrapping his arms around Rupert as the man pushed himself up on his forearms.

Rupert leaned down to initiate another searing kiss.  Wesley thrust with his tongue and hips, the pace becoming feverish as Rupert worked almost frantically against him.  Rupert pulled back from the kiss, panting hard, and let his head drop onto Wesley's shoulder.  Wesley was hard again, the friction just on the edge between pleasure and pain, even smoothed by saliva and cum.

Wesley clung to Rupert, back arching once again, his balls tightening.  He was speaking, as was Rupert, their words only adding to the general buzz of noise Wesley couldn't have made out had he wanted to.  He heard his name though, soft and still cutting through the fog and pushing him over the edge, he heard Rupert whisper 'Wesley' as they both came.

Wesley felt every last one of his muscles go lax, though his lungs were still working double time.  Rupert was panting against his shoulder, his forearms trembling with the effort to hold himself up and not crush Wesley.

"That . . . uh, that was . . . simply the best wake up call I've ever received," Wesley gasped out.

Rupert rolled onto to his side, smiling languidly, his hands moving over Wesley's chest and stomach.  "Also," he said, "perhaps the messiest?"

Wesley looked down and blinked at the semen covering both Rupert at himself.  "I'd say a shower is most definitely in order," Wesley said, nodding.  "Er, once my body decides it's capable of movement."

Rupert laughed.  "Just my way of apologizing for passing out on the sofa last night," he said, answering Wesley unfinished question from what seemed forever ago.  Wesley slid closer to Rupert, shaking his head.

"While I most definitely appreciate the effort, there was no need to apologize."

Rupert shrugged, a wicked smile lighting his eyes.  "Oh, but I _wanted_ to apologize."

"Far be it from me to be ungracious about an apology, then.  I'll, er . . ." Wesley blushed slightly, which he knew was ridiculous after what they'd just done.  "I'll have to apologize."

Rupert laughed and shook his head.  "Tomorrow, or later tonight, but . . . we have to get to work now."

Wesley groaned, wishing he could bury his head under the pillows and pretend he hadn't heard that.  "Why do you always seduce me right before we have to go?"

"Not always," Rupert objected, "but you have to admit it's a much more interesting than coffee as a way to begin a day."

Wesley knew he couldn't refute that.  He didn't even bother to try.


	11. Chapter 11

At the library, Wesley found Faith waiting for them.  It was earlier than she normally showed up.  She most often patrolled with Buffy and then kept at it after Buffy had returned home, so she rose later in the day.  She sat on the library table, kicking her legs into open air, twirling a pencil through the fingers of first one hand and then the other.

"Faith?  Has something happened?"  Wesley glanced back to make certain Rupert was right behind him and then went to put his briefcase on the check-in desk, eyes never leaving Faith.

"Uh, no, no.  Just . . . you know that offer you made me?"  Faith stood, pacing to the book cage and then back to the table once again, her hands moving with her words.  "You, uh, you said you could help me.  Uh, make-make me better, faster . . . I was gonna say 'easier' there, but . . ." Faith looked him in the eyes for the first time in a long time, the humor and smile on her face a relief to see.

"Uh, yes," Wesley didn't bother trying to hide his own smile.

"Hmm," came Rupert's amused voice from behind Wesley.  "That would most definitely be my cue to leave you two alone."  Rupert walked past him, shooting Wesley an encouraging smile before going into his office and shutting the door.

Wesley snorted and looked back to Faith.  She shrugged, looking to the floor at his feet again.  "So, uh . . . if your offer’s still open?  I . . . I kinda think I'd like that."  Her nervousness had returned and Wesley could only assume she believed he was going to take back the offer he'd made to help her, to train her.

"Of course it's open, Faith, all you had to do was ask.  Would you like to get started now?"

Faith looked up at that, nodding.  "Yeah, if you're up for it."  She seemed truly excited.  "What are we gonna be doing?  Like calisthenics, or maybe martial arts?  Oh, maybe weapons?"

Wesley smiled, shaking his head.  "No, first . . . I think we'll work on teaching you how to be calm."

Faith lost her smile at that.  "Huh.  Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," she grumbled, but Wesley could see it was only half-hearted.

"Give me an hour of your time.  If you don't feel better after that, more at ease, then we'll move on to something else.  All right?"

"One hour?"  Faith seemed to think about it for a moment.  "Okay, Jeeves," she said, taking on that teasing tone Wesley had come to recognize.  "You got an hour to make me calm.  Frankly, I don't think your boy--" she nodded to Rupert's office, "--is gonna be all too happy about that, but . . ."

Sighing and trying to hide his blush, Wesley nodded toward the stacks.  "Let's go where it's quiet."  He popped his head into Rupert's office to let him know where he'd be and then followed Faith back.

"Huh.  Didn't know there was so much back here," she said with a shrug.

Wesley hid a smile and then took of his suit jacket, neatly folding it.  "First, we'll work on breathing.  He sat cross-legged on the floor in what he thought was a rather graceful maneuver until Faith copied him, muscles moving like silk.

Sighing, Wesley began the lesson.  He took Faith through breathing exercises, beginning with the simple and then leading her into the more complex.  He talked her through the first steps of tapping into her own power, channeling it into the slow, smooth motions of Tai Chi before moving her back into a cross-legged sitting position and going through the breathing exercises in reverse.  By the end of the hour, Faith seemed calmer to him, but it would be up to her to decide.

She opened her eyes slowly, a smiling tilting up her lips.  "That . . . wow.  That was . . ." She shook her head, standing from the position without the use of her hands.  "Wow."

Wesley smiled, raising his eyebrows in question.  "I assume that means you'll be returning for your next lesson tomorrow?"

"Will I be doing that again?"  Faith nodded to where she'd been sitting on the floor.

"For a few more lessons, until you've learned the sequence backward and forward.  Then you'll perform the exercise every morning."  Wesley explained, glad to see Faith's interest.  It felt as if he were doing something, as if, with Faith's help, he'd begun to really do his job as a Watcher.

"That's the kick."  Faith glanced over at one of the shelves, suddenly becoming quiet, more serious.  "Does . . . does Buffy do this?"

Wesley raised his eyebrows at that, watching as Faith ran her fingers along the books' spines.  _More to fidget than out of interest_ , Wesley thought.  "I don't believe so.  Rupert has taken a rather less structured approach with Buffy."  _Because Buffy can already sit still when she needs to,_ Wesley added to himself.

"Huh."  Wesley couldn't tell if that was a good sound or not, whether Faith wanted Buffy to be doing the same training she was or not.

"Okay.  I'll be here tomorrow.  Same time."  Faith picked up her jacket and gave him a little wave.  He watched her go with a growing sense of accomplishment.  She stopped before leaving his line of sight, half turning back toward him.  "Uh . . . thanks, Wes."

"No need to thank me, Faith.  It's my duty and my pleasure."  She snorted, but was smiling when she left.

Picking up his own jacket, Wesley started back toward the library proper.  He had the strangest urge to go to Rupert's office and tell his lover how well it had gone.  Though he snorted at himself for that, Wesley didn't curb the impulse.

**** 

Faith kept her appointments, Wesley was relieved to see.  He and Rupert would get to the library and she'd already be there, waiting.  Wesley was surprised, having assumed she'd want a later schedule, but Faith said she liked coming in for training before bed.  It calmed her down, wore her out and she slept better.

He and Rupert had shared a drink to Faith's acquiescence.  Her nervousness around him didn't seem to fade, however.  In fact, it seemed to be getting worse.  There were times when she get a serious look upon her face, pause, as if she were about to say something and then simply shake her head.  He never pushed her, thinking that was surely the quickest way to keep her silent.  He hoped she would tell him whatever was bothering her in her own time.  However, Wesley was unsure what else he could do, how he could forge the same bond with Faith that Rupert had with Buffy.

"I just don't know what else I can do," Wesley said with a sigh, leaning back against Rupert and letting the shower's warm water wash over him.  Rupert paused in kissing his ear and Wesley could feel Rupert shrugging.

"My first year with Buffy was . . . a disaster in spots, but it was going through what we did that helped us to understand one another."  Wesley glanced back a Rupert, knowing there was more coming.  "Well, as much as anyone can ever understand a teenaged girl whose destiny is to kill the things that go bump in the night."

Wesley snorted, nodding.  They'd spent too long in the shower.  Well, no, they'd spent too long in bed before finally getting into the shower.  Either way, they'd have to hurry if they were to make it to the library on time.

"We have to go," he said with sigh.  As much as he enjoyed having found his place here, with Faith, he sometimes wished the mornings were longer.  That was his favorite time.  He and Rupert had fallen into such a comfortable routine, but routines never lasted and Wesley wanted to stretch out the time as much as he could.

"You're right," Rupert responded, reaching over Wesley's shoulder to turn off the water.  The move was awkward, forcing Wesley to lean forward with Rupert plastered against his back.  Wesley laughed, knowing Rupert had done it on purpose, a reminder of the night before.  Shivering happily at the memory, Wesley slipped away and out of the shower.

"Keep that up, Rupert, and we won't make it to work at all.  Buffy will come looking for you, only to find us both naked and passed out on the bathroom floor.  Is that what you want?"  Wesley tossed Rupert a towel, watching as his lover pretended to consider for a moment before giving an exaggerated shudder.

Breakfast was skipped as they both rushed to get their materials together.  Wesley had found some interesting leads concerning the knife, but he had nothing on the Mayor.  Unfortunately, neither did Rupert.  The frustration had been keeping them both up later and later, books still laid scattered across the coffee table, Rupert's desk.  Even the counter had its own burden.  All of the texts lay open at particularly interesting bits, the rest marked with strips of paper.

They needed to narrow the scope, but neither he nor Rupert had come up with a way to do that.  Wesley sent one more look at the flat, making sure he'd grabbed all the texts he'd need today.  The knife, still on Rupert's desktop, but half covered by a volume of Merasian prophecies, caught his eye.  He'd have to remind Rupert to put that away when they got back.

When they reached the library, Wesley was surprised not only because Faith wasn't there, but because Buffy, Willow and Xander were, all wearing thoughtful expressions.

"What's going on?"  Both he and Rupert asked together.

"Demon," Buffy said with a shrug, "but not like, big, nasty, gonna watch the world go down in flames.  He, uh, he said he had some books we'd want.  The Books of Ascension?  Wants five thousand dollars for them."

"Books?"  Again, Wesley and Rupert spoke together.

"Okay, the Watcher in stereo thing's getting creepy," Buffy said, her face scrunching up.  Wesley shot a covert, amused glance at Rupert and then asked his second question.

"And you say this demon wanted cash?" At Buffy's nod, Wesley bit his lip, thinking.  "That's very unusual."

"Demons after money.  Whatever happened to the still beating heart of a virgin?  No one has any standards anymore."  Wesley glanced over at Rupert, swallowing hard when he realized the man was eating the banana he'd grabbed as breakfast.  Forcing his eyes away from that picture, he turned back to Buffy and the others.

"What's this Ascension mean?" Xander asked.  Wesley shrugged, glancing to Rupert when he couldn't provide an answer.

"I'm not sure," was all Rupert had to say.

"No, not really a common term in demonology," Wesley added, though it did seem familiar, but he couldn't remember where he'd heard it.  He'd been over so many books in the past two weeks the information in each was beginning to blur a bit.  He'd have to skim through the ones he knew he'd read and see if he could find the reference again.

"Ooh, ooh!" Willow piped up, drawing Wesley from his thoughts.  "The Marenschadt Text, I think in the section on genocide, they mention Ascension."  Wesley raised his eyebrows, wondering what Willow had been doing reading such an advanced book.  Rupert didn't look too happy about that either.

"Well, we have a winner." Buffy said, smiling at her friend.

"And, more importantly, two losers," Xander snarked.  Wesley didn't even bother to glare as he'd realized long ago that it did nothing to curb Xander's odd sense of humor.  If humor it could be called.

"Where did you find that volume?"  There was a slight edge to Rupert's voice and Wesley glanced back to Willow, finding the girl looking rather unrepentant when she answered.

"In the top of your book cabinet with the stuff you try to keep hidden." 

Wesley tuned out the children then, his eyes following Rupert as he disappeared into the office, only to reemerge a moment later with the Marenschadt Text in hand.  He was scanning the lines and Wesley could see the tension in his lover's body, could have spotted it from across the room.  He didn't think anyone else could read Rupert so well, however.  Certainly Willow couldn't, as she didn't even bother to apologize.  She had to know Rupert was angry, didn't she?  Of course, Wesley remembered a time we he'd have been blithely unaware of the signs himself.

"Ah, yes, yes, here we are.  There's a reference here to the journal of Desmond Kane, pastor of a town called Sharpsville.  'May 26, 1723. Tomorrow is the Ascension.  God help us all.'  It was the last anyone heard."

"Of Kane?" Wesley asked, moving to Rupert's side to see for himself.

"Of Sharpsville. The town more or less disappeared," Rupert pointed out the lines he'd read, angling the book so that Wesley could easily read it over his shoulder.

"So Ascension possibly not a love-in," Buffy said and Wesley snorted.

"I think you should meet with this demon, Buffy," Rupert was saying, Wesley nodding his agreement with a sigh as he finished the lines.

"Yeah?  Anybody got five thousand dollars?" Buffy snorted.  Wesley considered calling the Council, but there were better ways to get the books, ways that wouldn't give the Council information before he was certain he wanted them to have it.

Once again, Wesley had to push aside that nagging little voice that asked him what his father would think, asked if his father would be proud of his conduct.  It was growing louder, but Wesley was also becoming more adept at ignoring it.  He wasn't sure which of those worried him the most.

He looked up when he realized Miss Chase was standing before him.  He blinked, raising an eyebrow in question as she seemed to be focused on him specifically.

"I have something important to ask you," she said, which only made Wesley's eyebrow rise higher.

"Important?" Xander put in.  "Let's start calculating those odds, people."  Wesley ignored the young man as he'd gathered there was some sort of history between Xander and Miss Chase.

"What are you doing Friday night?" Cordelia asked, her intent gaze leaving no doubt that she was, indeed, talking to him.

Wesley felt his mouth drop open for a split second.  His eyes darted quickly to Rupert, who looked surprised and faintly amused, before he began sputtering.  "Uh, I, uh, as always my sacred duty as a Watcher prevents me from, ah . . . Why?"

"I have a paper to write for English and you're English, so I thought . . ." Cordelia seemed to think this a perfect reasonable explanation.  In fact, when there was a snicker from the others, she turned toward them and snapped, "What?  Is it so wrong to be getting an insider's perspective?"  Wesley had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.  Surely, this was some kind of joke?  "I study best in a good restaurant, around eightish?  Think it over?"

Apparently not.  Wesley stood, stunned speechless, as Cordelia turned and left.  He glanced at Rupert, his confusion was apparently obvious.  Rupert was stifling laughter.

"And on the day the words 'flimsy excuse' were redefined, we stood in awe and watched," Xander said and Wesley actually found himself agreeing with the young man, for once.  Shaking his head, he tried to bring the meeting back on topic.

"Right.  Books of Ascension, Mayor, slaughter.  Tell you what.  Why don't we try to find this demon sooner rather than later?  Perhaps persuade him to lend us the books free of charge."

"I think Faith might be useful in that persuasion part," Buffy said, which only drew Wesley attention back to the fact that Faith wasn't there.  She hadn't missed a training session yet, and despite her ability to take care of herself he was worried.

"I imagine so.  Where is Faith anyway?"

Buffy's shrug did nothing at all to ease his mind.

**** 

"Find anything?" Wesley asked as he returned to his seat with a new book of his own.  He glanced over Rupert's shoulder on the way.  There was no one else about, but they still had to be careful.  Regardless, Wesley couldn't resist a quick kiss to Rupert's ear, all the encouragement he could lend at the moment.

"Six course banquet of nothing with a scoop of sod-all as a palate cleanser," Rupert replied, glancing up at him with a small, tired smile.  "Perhaps you should contact the Council, maybe run a search . . ."

Wesley nodded, sighing.  He removed his glasses to rub at tired eyes.  "I'd thought of that, but . . . we don't know where this is going to lead.  Of course, it's, apparently, going to lead to the Ascension if we don't find out what's going on."  Wesley replaced his glasses, looking up as Buffy entered the library, her demeanor strangely quiet.  "Still, I think the most expedient plan would be to find these Books of Ascension themselves. Buffy, you and Faith must find this demon, and soon.”

"Well, I'll go back to the scene, see if I can track him," Buffy replied with a shrug.

"Wait for Faith," Wesley said, trying to get his mind to focus once more on the text before his eyes.

"That could be hours.  The girl makes Godot look punctual.  I'll just go myself."

Wesley did look up then, shaking his head.  "Buffy, this is a job for the both of you. This demon could be anywhere.  If these books are as important as he says, he has good reason to hide.  Finding him is going to be extremely difficult."

"Found your demon," Xander announced as he strolled into the library.  Wesley blinked, opening his mouth to ask how and simply staring instead.

"Fashion tip, Wes?  Mouth looks better closed," Buffy commented.  Wesley heard Rupert snort and gave the man a mock glare.  Then, spotting the wicked sparkle in Rupert's eyes, and Rupert's slightly suggestive smile, Wesley almost choked on his next breath.

He missed whatever Xander had said as he surreptitiously tried to regain his composure.  He did see Xander pass Buffy a slip of paper.  He couldn't have missed it as it happened right in front of his blushing face.

"You beat up Willy?"  Buffy's voice was oddly cheerful at the thought.  Wesley blinked at her and then looked back to Xander.

"Sure!  Well, actually, let's just say I applied some pressure, or more accurately, that I asked politely, and then, uh, okay, I bribed him."  Wesley hid a smile at that, doubting Xander would appreciate that Wesley found it rather funny.

"How much?" Buffy asked, though Wesley tuned out Xander's answer, trying to get a look at the piece of paper she was holding. "I know this.  It's down by the bus station.  Not the nicest part of town."

"Again, see?  No standards.  I mean, any self-respecting demon should be living in a pit of filth or a nice crypt," Rupert said, turning back to his book.

"I'll remember to mention that," Buffy said, turning to go when Faith walked into the library.  Though he was relieved to finally see the girl, Wesley didn't let that stop him from giving her a questioning glare.

He knew she'd seen it.  She'd looked right at him before turning to Buffy.  "Mention what? Where we going, girlfriend?"  Faith slipped her arm into Buffy's, giving them all a smile.  She didn't meet his eyes.  Wesley knew intentional avoidance when he saw it.  Something wasn't right here.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees and Buffy pulled away from Faith, saying, "Actually, I can handle this one solo."

"Why should you get to have all the fun?  Share, share, that's fair, right?" Faith seemed a bit put out by Buffy's attitude and Wesley could hardly blame her.  He blinked at Buffy, knowing something must have happened to cause her to react the way she was, but at a loss as to what it might be.  He glanced over to find Rupert giving Buffy a worried look as well.

"Right."  Buffy seemed further annoyed by Faith's words.  "Got our demon."

"Oh, well, let's go look him up."  Faith's smile was brittle somehow as she turned to follow Buffy, who marched from the library.  For a moment, Wesley sat silent with Rupert and Xander, all of them clearly uneasy.  Finally, Xander broke the hush.

"Is it me or did it just get really cold in here?"

Wesley said nothing, his mind turning over and over the tension between the Slayers, trying to divine its cause though he knew that was likely useless.  Faith had been avoiding him, of that he was sure now, though he didn't understand why.  He'd thought they'd been getting on well, thought that she might even be beginning to trust him.

He had to admit he was slightly hurt by her behavior, but more than anything he was even more worried than he had been when he hadn't seen her all day.  Wesley glanced up to ask Rupert a question, only to find the man's attention focused on the stacks.  Glancing in that direction, Wesley saw nothing, but Rupert obviously did.

Rupert looked back and their eyes met.  Wesley was surprised at how serious his lover looked.  Rupert's foot found his under the table and Wesley raised an eyebrow when Rupert muttered, 'follow my lead' in French.

"Wesley?  Where's the Trassier Compendium?"  Rupert asked a moment later.  Xander didn't even look up from whatever book he was paging through.

"Uh . . . in the stacks?"  Wesley didn't have to fake the confusion in his voice.

"It's not where it's supposed to be.  I checked earlier and you were the last to have it.  Where did you put it?"

"Oh."  Wesley finally understood where Rupert was headed with the strange conversation.  "Let me show you.  Your system is flawed you know.  It really doesn't fit where you had it."  He followed Rupert into the stacks, about to ask what the hell Rupert was on about.  He stopped without a word when he saw a dark shape disappear further into the stacks.

"He's a friend," Rupert muttered, nodding for Wesley to follow him.  They found the 'friend' standing in the last aisle of the stacks, in the shadowed corner, his yellow eyes focusing at once on Rupert.

Wesley stared at the tall, black robed shape that took up far too much of the room in the narrow rows.  Rupert seemed not at all bothered that they were face to face with an Alask demon, but Wesley was . . . more cautious, to say the least, especially given what the Alask was saying.

"I've been contracted to remove the soul of the vampire now known as Angel.  Tonight.  I am to work with a dark-haired Slayer, which is why I thought I should come to you."

"No," Wesley contradicted, shaking his head.  "Faith . . ." he wanted to say that Faith wouldn't do that, wouldn't work with the Mayor.  He even believed it, mostly.  His mind kept throwing up images of Faith on the verge of telling him something, Faith's nervous behavior.

"Believe it or not, as you choose," the Alask's deep voice sent chills down Wesley's spine.

"I believe you," Rupert said sadly.  His hand moved back to brush over Wesley's, though whether it was a warning not to speak or an attempt at comfort, Wesley wasn't certain.  "Thank you for coming to me with this . . . I'd like for you to simply pretend to do such a spell."

The Alask nodded somberly.  "To repay you, I will."

"Thank you."

The Alask backed into the shadows of the room and seemed to fade away.  Wesley stood staring.  It wasn't that he hadn't heard of such things, just that he'd never seen someone use magic so blatantly.

"Are you all right?"  Rupert's voice was low in his ear.  Wesley shook his head, trying to comprehend all that had been said.

"Why would the Mayor want to take Angel's soul?  Why . . . why would Faith want to work with him to do it?  I just . . . it makes no sense.  I could have sworn I was getting through to her, Rupert!  What did I do wrong?"  Wesley felt as if his world was crumbling around him.  He'd been so confident, so sure that he was doing the right thing, doing some good with Faith and now . . . those certainties laid at his feet in tiny pieces.  He shook his head, swallowing hard at the burning behind his eyes.

Rupert's hand cupped his cheek and Wesley looked to his lover for an answer to his question.  "Did I not push her hard enough?  I told you about how it seemed she wanted to talk to me, but I thought . . . I didn't want her to think I was . . ." Wesley shook his head again.

"Wesley, listen to me.  If this is true, we'll know soon.  Even if it is, you did everything you could for her."  Rupert gave him an intense look; as if he thought he could make Wesley believe him just by that alone.

Wesley shrugged, but more because he didn't want to discuss it right now.  There wasn't time.  If this was true, one of them was going to have to tell Angel and he didn't want Rupert to have to do it.  They had to formulate a plan.

"What are we going to do?  If the mage pretends to do the spell, Angel's going to have to pretend to be Angelus.  I can go and tell him, but what then?  He might be able to acquire some information, I suppose."  Wesley saw Rupert start to object the change in topic and then stop.  He blinked and sighed in a way that told Wesley the conversation wasn't over, just forestalled.

At the moment, it was enough.  Wesley would deal with the rest later, after he ran out of things to distract him.  Living on the Hellmouth, he might never have to think about it.

"Buffy," Giles said.  "Faith's going to want to go after her, as would . . . Angelus.  The Mayor's likely to want her out of the way, so we'll need to make certain she's prepared."

Wesley nodded, swallowing hard.  He didn't like this at all, but they had to know why the Mayor would want this.  He had to know that Angelus would turn on him in an instant and, if he didn't, Faith should surely know it.  Why would they play with such a dangerous thing as that?

****

"Our enemy has us at a disadvantage.  We seem to be consistently one step behind him.  Now he has the Books of Ascension."  Wesley hoped no one noticed the twitch of his eye as he said those words.  He knew why Mayor Wilkins had the upper hand, but he couldn't say anything.  Rupert, Buffy, Angel, and he had all agreed that it was best to have as few people in on what was happening as possible.  Now they had to keep the children out of Buffy's way, let her and Angel have space to perform.  "We must take definitive action."

"You have the greatest voice.  Have you ever thought about doing books on tape?"  Wesley blinked at Cordelia, attempting to formulate a reply when Xander spoke up.

"Way to focus CC."

"Yes, let's, uh . . ." Wesley sighed softly to himself.  "Let's try to stay on track.  We need everyone working together here."

"What should we do?" Buffy asked, uncharacteristically quiet, though Wesley more than understood the reasons.

"Buffy, I think you should try to retrieve the Books of Ascension," Rupert said, laying the foundation.  "Check out the Mayor's office, but be damned careful.  Do not confront the Mayor.  We don't know a thing about him."  Wesley nodded his agreement, trying to keep himself focused on the details in order not to have to look at the bigger picture for once.

"I'll go home and stock up on weapons.  Slip into something a little more break-and-enterish."  Buffy stood and left without a glance backward.

"Right," Rupert continued, though Wesley had seen the worried glance he'd given Buffy as she'd left.  "Willow, how far did you get with the Mayor's files?"

"Excuse me," Cordelia piped in again.  "I believe Wesley is running this meeting."

"It's, uh, it's quite all right," Wesley said, shooting an apologetic look to Rupert.  "Willow?"

"It's all bad news."  Willow shrugged.  "By the time I got through the encryptions, the files were empty.  Guess he saw me coming."

"What about the Hall of Records?" Oz suggested.  "Go to the source."

"Good idea.  There must be information on the Mayor there."  Wesley nodded, turning the notion over in his mind.  It was, actually, a wonderful idea.  They might be able to find something on the bastard.  Wesley found himself quite invested in stopping Mayor Wilkins.

"Wesley, why don't you take the group and start looking?"  Rupert walked behind him, his fingers pressing lightly against Wesley's back for only a moment, though their warmth lingered.

"Right."  Wesley would have liked for that small touch to have been enough, but his head was a riot of thoughts he had to ignore, things he couldn't even begin to sort through until this night was over.

Cordelia stood quickly, saying, "I'm in Wesley's group."

"There is just the one group," Rupert snapped, much to Wesley's surprise.  He glanced over to find Rupert taking slow breaths.

"Yes, and I'm in it," was Cordelia's reply.

"Anyone mind if I skip the trip?" Xander sent a hostile glance toward him and Wesley blinked, unsure what Xander thought he'd done to earn it.  "I'm gonna cruise town, keep my ear to the ground, and I think five's a crowd."

"It really is," Cordelia said breezily as she followed Oz and Willow.

When they reached the Hall of Records Wesley buried himself in the research.  It was easy, all written in one language, all neat and orderly, all useless.  Wesley sighed as he laid a few pages aside for later examination.

"Hey!  I know a way to make investigating the Mayor even more boring."  Cordelia interrupted the quiet for at least the third time, sighing.  "On second thought, no, I don't."

Wesley looked back to his own work, agreeing with Cordelia more than he'd have admitted.  He glanced up at Oz's footsteps and found him standing at the table.  He was holding what looked like a picture and leaned forward over Willow's shoulder to hold it next to a current picture of Mayor Wilkins.  Wesley leaned forward, examining the two pictures closely, his eyes going wide at the resemblance.

"Guys, check this out. Wow, like father, like son," Willow said.

A moment later Oz shook his head.  "How about like exact same guy, like exact same guy?"

"Mayor Wilkins is over one hundred years old," Wesley sighed, sitting back in his chair as he considered this, turning the man over and over in his mind in the hopes of identifying something, some quirk.  "He's not human."

"I, uh, hate to spoil the mood, but this is so much worse than you think." Xander entered the room and Wesley stood, the worry he'd been attempting to hold back now surging forward.

"Xander, what happened to you?" Willow asked.

"You know how some people hate to say I told you so?  Not me.  I told you so. Angel's back in the really bad sense, and uh, I told you so."  Xander's voice was so smug Wesley felt his teeth grinding just at the sound. 

"No, he isn't," Wesley began to explain, only to get cut off by Xander once again.

"How about you shutting up.  I was the one who caught the business end of his fist," Xander snarled, motioning to his face.  "And just so you know?  Faith?  Your responsibility?  His new playmate."

Wesley couldn't help but flinch at that, his stomach clenching.

"Faith and Angel?  Together?"  Willow's voice was higher than usual.

"No," Wesley contradicted.  "It's a ruse."

"A ruse?"  Xander stepped toward Wesley, motioning toward his eye.  "Does this look like a ruse to you?  Angelus is--"

"Angel is playacting," Wesley ground out, refusing to back down when Xander stepped closer.  "To lure Faith out," he admitted with a sigh.  "Buffy knows.  She and Angel are trying to get whatever information they can out of Faith."

All except for Xander looked relieved, or mostly so.  Xander just stared at him and Wesley threw his hands up.  "What?  You don't believe me?  Perhaps I'm in with Faith and Angelus.  Why don't you bloody well call Rupert if you won't take my word for it!"

Wesley stalked off down the hall, refusing to look back when Willow and Cordelia called after him.  Stopping in the hall, he dialed the number to the library, hearing reluctant footsteps as the others came after him.  The sound of Rupert's voice calmed some of his frazzled nerves, enough to let him speak.

"It's happening.  Meet us at the mansion?  Yes.  You'll, uh, perhaps have to convince Xander."  He handed the phone to the young man, turning to lean against the wall as Xander spoke with Rupert.  He didn't bother listening, instead breathing deeply in and out in order to quash the anger and hurt.

"Let's go," Willow said softly, nudging his shoulder and giving him a tentative smile.

Wesley blinked and then nodded, following after them as they headed for Oz's van.  He felt numb.  Once he'd managed to suppress one thing, it had all gone.  He was silent in the van on the way over, ignoring Willow's attempts at conversation.  When they finally reached the mansion, he saw Xander grabbing a cross and shook his head.

They charged in without a plan.  Had they really been dealing with Faith and Angelus, without Buffy's help, they'd likely have gotten themselves killed.  Not that Wesley had much room to talk on that front.  Every one of these children had more field experience than he.  It was a depressing thought, not that he could feel much lower.

At least he hadn't thought it was possible.  Then he saw Faith, saw for himself that she truly had chosen the other side as she grabbed Angel and flung him toward the children and himself.  Xander was on Angel in a moment, holding his cross out to keep the vampire back.

Wesley, however, couldn't take his eyes off Faith and Buffy.  He couldn't help but assess every punch and kick and spin Faith made.  Her movements were more controlled than the last time he'd seen her fight, each blow using the full potential of her weight and momentum.  He watched as it came down to two knives, two throats.  He watched Faith kiss Buffy's forehead and flee without ever looking back.

He'd made her better.  It made him sick.  Wesley stumbled outside and retched, his stomach roiling and sending him to his knees.  What had he done?


	12. Chapter 12

Wesley was sitting on the stairs when Rupert arrived, the others still inside.  Rupert sat down next to him, nudging him with his shoulder as he said, "I'm sorry."

"It isn't your fault," Wesley replied automatically, his eyes flitting back to the door inside.  He could hear the others talking, but their voices were low, indistinguishable.  "I could have sworn, Rupert.  I . . ."

"I know."

Wesley couldn't bring himself to look over, to see the disappointment he knew had to have set up house in Rupert's eyes.  His chest tightened further at the thought and he tangled his fingers together, staring at them.

Rupert's lips touched his temple, quick and soft and Wesley drew in a deep breath, glancing automatically over.  Rupert watched him sympathetic eyes, his mouth set in a sad, worried frown.  Wesley started to speak, but found it impossible with so many things to say and nowhere to begin.  Rupert's hand settled on top of his and Wesley's eyes followed it, staring.

Something deep inside him relaxed at the offer of comfort.  Wesley sucked in a surprised breath, clenching his jaw and closing his eyes against the hot prickle of tears.  Swallowing hard, he let out his breath slowly and nodded to Rupert.

"I'm fine.  Go.  Go see Buffy."  Rupert gave him a look that asked if he was certain and Wesley nodded, licking his lips as he jerked his head toward the door.

"I'll be just a moment.  We have to stop back by the library, but then we'll go home."  Rupert kissed his temple again as he stood and went inside.  Wesley sighed, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

He'd failed.  Faith had been using him and he'd let her.  She'd already been strong, fast, tough.  It wasn't as if the little he'd been able to impart over the last days would be enough to tip the scales in her favor.  So why had she done this?  Why had she toyed with him?  She knew what it had meant to him.  He'd told her, that first day when he'd visited her here.  He'd laid it all out, going on and on about how he wanted to help this world, how he wanted to have some purpose here, how he wanted a place for himself in Sunnydale, how they could both have that, if they worked together.

She'd known.  He'd thought it meant as much to her.  He'd been a fool, obviously.  Now he'd have to tell the Council and the thought of what his father would say, it sat like ice in his stomach, a cold knot of dread that kept growing.  He'd had a chance with Faith, a real chance.  He'd lied to Travers to keep her in Sunnydale; he'd performed like a dancing monkey for those damn evaluators; he'd worked with her every day.  The Council had given him the chance and now his incompetence would be clear to all of them, as it had always been clear to his father.

The ice in his stomach developed claws, or, at least, it felt as if something were ripping at his insides.  With Faith gone, his only purpose in Sunnydale was to stop her.  When that was done, he'd have no reason to stay.  Not that the Council would let him.  They'd yank him back to England so quickly he'd get whiplash.  Would they send someone else?  Would Rupert--shaking his head, because he couldn't bear to think in that area at all, Wesley stood as Rupert and the others came outside.

He followed silently, mind still turning.  If anyone spoke to him, he wasn't aware of it.  Without a thought, he went to Rupert's car instead of Oz's van, too caught up in other thoughts to wonder how that would look.

Rupert kept glancing at him on the drive back.  Wesley knew he was worrying the man, but didn't know how to stop.  Cold and tired, Wesley sat quietly in the library as Rupert finished up his business with the Alask demon, as the others asked the questions.  He was just as quiet as he followed the Citroen back to Rupert's flat.

Rupert waited for him in the courtyard and Wesley tried to smile for him.  He wasn’t sure how reassuring it was, but at least he'd made the effort.  Putting his things aside, Wesley went immediately to the counter, pouring himself a Scotch and glancing at Rupert with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, please," Rupert replied as he went into the kitchen.  It suddenly struck Wesley how comfortable he'd become here.  There had been a time when he wouldn't have even contemplated pouring a drink for himself.  He'd made himself at home and there was no panic in the thought, no wondering if Rupert thought him rude for doing so.  Wesley slid Rupert's Scotch across the counter, swallowing his own in two gulps before laying his head on his crossed arms.

"Hungry, love?"

Wesley head came up so quickly his vision blurred a little.  He stared at Rupert's back, watching as Rupert pulled several containers out of the freeze.  The man seemed absorbed in the task of keeping them from all tumbling out at once, unaware of what he'd said . . . twice.  He'd called Wesley that once before, though it seemed like an age ago.

"Uh, not-not particularly," Wesley forced himself to answer when Rupert shot him a questioning glance over his shoulder.

"Eat something.  You'll feel better."

Wesley snorted, shaking his head.  "Somehow I doubt that.  Very much."

"Humor me," Rupert replied, turning to Wesley with a container in each hand.  "Soup or pasta?"

"Uhh . . ." Wesley shook his head, shrugging.

"Both it is then," Rupert replied with a slight smile.

They ate in silence.  Wesley found, once he'd started, that he was indeed hungry.  He'd had an apple for breakfast, but there had been no time to stop for lunch and . . . well, he supposed neither he nor Rupert had actually eaten today.  After eating, Wesley found he did feel slightly better, physically at least.  He still felt as if there were several different people in his head, all shouting at once.

Rupert grabbed the bottle of Scotch, both their glasses and then nodded to the sofa.  Wesley went along without a word, slumping onto the couch with a sigh.  He accepted the measure of Scotch Rupert poured him and found himself staring at the mantel.  Rupert's arm slipped around him and Wesley leaned into the embrace, slipping off his shoes and pulling his feet up onto the sofa.

"What did you do wrong?" Rupert asked, his voice so soft Wesley wasn't sure it wasn't completely in his mind at first.  He looked up at Rupert and opened his mouth to answer, only to close it again a moment later.

"I don't know.  I can't find that one thing.  I've been over it again and again."

"So, if you've analyzed it, repeatedly, and come to the same conclusion each time, why do you still believe you're missing something?"

Wesley blinked at that, considering.  Rupert's fingers were moving soothingly along his arm.  His mind kept trying to flit to that instead of focusing, but he refused to let it.

"Well, she's . . . she's working with the Mayor.  As that isn't the result toward which I was working . . ." Wesley blinked, wondering why that didn't sound quite as reasonable as it had in his head.

"Faith's not a weapon, Wesley."

"I know that!"  Wesley insisted, pulling away from Rupert in order to sit up and stare at him.  "I know that.  You know I don't think of either Faith or Buffy that way any longer . . . don't you?"  Wesley held his breath as he waited for Rupert's answer.  He couldn't believe Rupert would still believe he could see them that way, after everything . . .

"I do know that, Wesley, that's not what I meant."  Rupert shook his head, sighing.  "What I mean is that you're not accounting for Faith's choices in this.  Being a Watcher isn't a succeed or fail test.  You've done . . . extremely well.  You worked very hard with Faith and I'm sorry she did this, but she's the one who made the choice."

"It doesn't matter," Wesley sighed, "and you know it."  Wesley slumped against Rupert once again, closing his eyes and just absorbing some of Rupert's warmth.  "Xander said it tonight, exactly as it is.  Faith was my responsibility.  It was my duty to guide her and I couldn't get through to her.  That's all that matters."

Rupert was silent then, his fingers moving through Wesley's hair.  Wesley felt himself--or his body at least--beginning to relax.  Between the Scotch, their supper, and Rupert's gentle fingers, he was almost calm.

"All that matters to whom?"  Rupert's voice startled him a bit.  Wesley turned his head to meet Rupert's eyes, his forehead furrowing.

"I'm sorry?"

"You said that the fact that you couldn't get through to Faith was all that mattered and I asked to whom."  Rupert hadn't stopped touching him, light fingers moving through his hair, the gesture more relaxing then Wesley could have imagined just a month ago.

"Everyone," Wesley said, his tone implying that that should be obvious.  "To Xander, obviously, to the Council, to-to my father."  Wesley looked away at the last, once against resting his head against Rupert's shoulder and staring at the mantel.

"I see," Rupert said softly.  "It's not what matters to me," he said softly, "but I think you need to decide if it's what matters to you."  Wesley made to answer, but Rupert hushed him.  "Let me finish.  I do understand how you feel.  I've felt the same way, to a much smaller extent, every time I couldn't seem to get Buffy to see the importance of some issue.  Training.  Shopping, or rather not shopping.  Her friends."  Rupert chuckled, though there was a sad edge to the sound.

Wesley pulled back a bit, brushing his fingers along Rupert's lips.  Rupert kissed them, offering him a sad smile as he intertwined their hands.

"I learned from Buffy that . . . she's a girl.  She's a teenager.  She's a person.  We can't make their choices for them.  We can guide them, support them, and it's our duty to do so, but if we attempt to decide their paths we wind up alienating them, or worse, making them dependent upon us for every thought and action.  What happens when we can't be there?  That's what's wrong with the Council, more than anything else."

Wesley sighed, considering.  He thought of the Slayers, raised by their Watchers and taught only to fight.  The three Slayers before Buffy had all been Watcher-raised, all been trained from birth, been taught their duty and isolated to keep them strong.  They'd lived a combined total of four years.  Three Slayers, four years.  Kendra had almost lasted one.  Buffy had lived for four already.  The math was not difficult.  Wesley had done it before, when he'd been caught between acquiescing to Rupert's way of handling Faith and the Council's.  He'd chosen Rupert's.

In the end, did _his_ choice make any difference?

****

Wesley stumbled blearily down the stairs, yawning and scratching at his neck as he made his way toward the kitchen to start the coffee maker.  Rupert wouldn't be up for another hour or so, but Wesley couldn't sleep, hadn't been able to for the last few days.  Not only was Faith's betrayal heavy on his mind, but they had graduation day to research.  Even had he been able to sleep without his dreams being a playground for conflicting thoughts, he and Rupert had far, far too much to do.

With the coffee started, he went to wash his face, shave, and brush his teeth.  He glanced down at his ragged sweatpants and then at the shower.  He intended to let Rupert sleep until the last possible moment.  They'd been up late and Rupert could use all the sleep he could get.  However, that would mean they wouldn't have time for a lingering shower together.  Sighing, Wesley stripped, taking a quick shower by himself, which was not nearly as relaxing as taking one with Rupert.  He was quiet when he sneaked upstairs to get his clothing.

Pausing before he went back downstairs to his coffee, Wesley smiled at the picture Rupert made sprawled across the bed on his stomach, the covers kicked down to his feet.  Shaking he head, Wesley went to pour himself a cup of the coffee, breathing in the scent and smiling faintly.  Cup and saucer in hand, he settled at Rupert's desk.  There was work still to be done, after all.  They didn't know enough about . . . anything, but he didn't exactly feel clear headed.  He reached for the next of Rupert's Watcher diaries, settling back in the chair to make some progress while he sipped his coffee and tried desperately to wake up.  

He read for several moments before setting down his coffee cup and leaning forward, his forehead furrowing and then his eyes going wide.  He picked up the last diary and read the last several pages, now seeing clearly the hints he'd missed before.  Then, dread coiling in his stomach, he picked up the most recent volume once more, his eyes flying along the pages.

 _Oh, this is going to make fascinating reading,_ he'd told Rupert when he'd first begun the diaries, what felt like a century ago.  And he'd meant that.  He had.  Not only because of Rupert's quips about Buffy's grammar and insolence, but because Rupert's handwriting was smooth and elegant, because he knew there'd be insights into the man himself.

Now, Wesley felt himself shiver.  At the end of the paragraph, he looked up to the loft, to where Rupert remained sleeping.  He couldn't make himself believe that those were the stairs that had been lit with candles, that this floor had been sprinkled with rose petals.  Dear Lord.  Was the bed in which he felt so warm and safe the same bed in which Jenny Calendar had been posed?

He shivered again, both wishing that Rupert were awake and wishing he hadn't picked up the diary in the first place.  With Rupert sleeping he felt alone in a flat in which he'd once felt so at ease.  His eyes widened.  This wasn't even his home and yet . . . well, it was as near to a home as he'd had in this country, but how must Rupert have felt?  Opening his door, seeing the trappings of a romantic evening, finding out that not only had a monster been inside your home, but he'd murdered someone you loved--

Wesley couldn't bear to think on that further.  For more reasons than the sympathy that choked his throat.  Rupert had loved Jenny.  He hadn't admitted it outright in his diaries, but it was there if one looked.  He loved her very much.  Wesley blinked away moisture and put the diary aside, instead reaching to pick up a Tes'ri text from the last age.

He was fairly certain that he'd find a reference to the knife in the last section, which dealt with the making and usage of their weapons.  It would be hard to translate, something in which he'd have to bury himself.  Perfect.

Wesley paused, blinking.  He sat for a moment, unable to pinpoint what exactly was wrong.  At first he thought it was what he'd read, that it had created a sense of uneasiness in him.  When he realized what was actually wrong, he stood so quickly the chair clattered to the floor.

"Damn!"

"Wesley?"  Rupert's voice was thick with sleep.

"Rupert?  Did you move the knife?"

"What?  I-I don't remember.  Why?"

"It was on the desk when . . . when we found out about Faith.  It's--it's gone."

"That's not possible."  Rupert's words were followed quickly by the man's footsteps.  Wesley began to open the desk's drawers, rummaging carefully among their contents.

"It's not here," Wesley growled, turning and kicking at the fallen chair, which only managed to do more damage to his unprotected toes than the solid wood.

"They couldn't have gotten in here," Rupert was saying, moving books aside in a frantic attempt to find the thing.

"What exactly have you warded against?"  Wesley asked, trying to get Rupert's attention.  "Someone got in here and took that knife.  Now, it wasn't necessarily the same people, but . . . I find it hard to believe that anyone else would take it and nothing else."

Rupert straightened, nodding.  "Uh, I've warded against everything I could.  Granted, they wouldn't stop a powerful demon or a vampire with an invitation, but they should have been more than enough to keep out a human intent on stealing something."

Wesley nodded, biting his lip and pacing.  He knew the kind of wards to which Rupert was referring, of course.  They were used often by the Council to deter thieves.  There were ways around such things, but the thieves would have had to know the wards were in place.

 _Of course,_ Wesley thought with a sigh, _if they kept sending people to steal the knife and they kept returning empty handed and confused about whether they'd actually even been in the flat . . . someone would certainly realize that things were not right._

"All right," Wesley said, turning to Rupert, who looked more angry than worried.  It was an odd reaction, Wesley thought, but they didn't have time for him to question it.  Later, once they figured out what was happening.  "We know the knife holds power on its own."

Rupert nodded, immediately, almost eagerly, jumping into the supposition.  "We know it was given to the horde leader because he was a loyal servant and priest, though you're still working on whom, exactly, gave it to him?"

"Yes, uh . . . all I can find are titles that don't seem to correspond to any of the Hellgods I've researched."

"Typical," Rupert said as he righted the chair and began to clean up the books.  Wesley blinked at him, but said nothing.  If it helped Rupert to think, he hardly cared.  "It would take someone with a death wish to speak the actual name of a Hellgod.  You'd be surprised how much attention they pay to such things."

Deciding that was yet another topic for which they didn't have time at the moment, Wesley filed away his questions for later.  "Right.  So, the knife is gone.  They'd have needed a charm or some such to get past your wards.  That type of charm would not be easy to find.  It would have to . . ."

He and Rupert looked at one another in dawning comprehension.

"A charm like that would have to contain a piece of someone who could legitimately claim ownership of something within the wards," Rupert finished, glancing around at his flat, full of antiques, old books.  "I'm an idiot," he growled, slamming the book in his hand down on the desk.

Wesley blinked, taking a step closer to Rupert though he'd never seen his lover lose his temper that way, especially not if it involved a book.  He reached out, hesitantly, running his fingers along Rupert's arm.  Rupert looked at him as if he'd completely forgotten Wesley's presence.

"I can't believe I didn't consider that.  It could have been practically anyone."  The temper seemed to drain from Rupert and Wesley stepped closer, pressing himself against Rupert's back.

"Rupert, there's nothing you could have done.  There's only so much a simple ward can protect against."

"Yes, and I knew that.  I shouldn't have been so very sure of them.  The knife . . . if we'd kept it elsewhere . . ."

"Where?  The library's even more vulnerable, with only physical locks.  I don't know whether Buffy's home is warded or not, but even if it were we'd have been putting Mrs. Summers in danger as a hostage.  There was nowhere else to keep it."  Wesley wrapped his arms around Rupert, as the man had done for him so many times.  Clasping them over Rupert's chest, he leaned his chin on his shoulder.  "Now we have to be concerned with getting it back."

Rupert nodded.  "Of course.  You're right."  Wesley felt more than heard the sigh that followed.  "We'd better get started.  I'd better call the children and--"

"Rupert?" Wesley couldn't help the small laugh that flitted over his lips.

"What?"  Rupert gave him a confused glare and Wesley smiled, taking a step back and letting his eyes trail over Rupert's body . . . Rupert's very naked body.  Rupert glanced down at himself and sighed.  "I'd better get dressed."

Wesley hid Rupert's diary for the moment, wanting to keep it out of his sight.  Then, forcing himself to focus, he picked through the research they'd had to hand.  The Tes'ri texts would most likely contain a reference to the knife, or to others like it, and he thought that might be a good place to start, except they would take time.  Now that this cult or whatever had the knife, they had to find out what they were going to do with it quickly.

Rupert came down from the loft once again, dressed.  He was clearly a bit agitated, but Wesley felt that way himself.  They had no idea what was going to happen now.  This knife was involved somehow, and with a Hellgod there weren't any sunshine and light possibilities.  Exactly the opposite, actually.

He heard Rupert calling the children, telling them that neither he nor Wesley would be at the library and that Buffy was to come straight over after school.  Wesley took his work to the coffee table where he and Rupert would be able to share texts and have room to work.  Wesley gave a distracted smile of thanks when Rupert put a refilled cup of coffee at his elbow.

Soon, they were both deep in research.  Wesley didn't really notice the time passing, too intent on the Tes'ri texts.  So far he'd learned that the knife was a mark of rank among the followers of 'He whose name is lost', which wasn't an encouraging sign to someone looking for that name.  He'd just started to get into the passages about the link it forged between giver and receiver.  It wasn't, he was glad to learn, a mystical link, but an emotional one.  It wasn't all that powerful, as it couldn't create emotions, only feed them.

He found it terribly interesting, actually, and thought he'd likely go over it all again, if there was ever a time when he wasn't working frantically on something else.

 _Of course, once the Council forces me back to England--_ Wesley blotted that thought out.  He'd still not called the Council to inform them about Faith.  They needed to know.  If she left Sunnydale they would have to deal with her and he couldn't let them go unwarned simply because he didn't want to lose the small place he still had here . . . didn't want to lose Rupert.  _Selfishness does not become a Watcher,_ he heard his father's voice saying, just as he had when Wesley was little and had asked to be able to go home with a friend for the weekend.  He'd told Wesley the same thing many times since then.

"Wesley?"  Rupert's voice drew his from his work.  "What's this?"

"Hmm?"  Wesley took the paper Rupert held out to him and scanned it.  "Oh, it's the inscription from the tomb.  I wrote it down when we got back . . . while you and Buffy were speaking."  Wesley read over it, shaking his head.

_Only one of strength of hand, of burning heart and soldier's mind (discipline, mentality), shall breech the tomb of the King._

"It's terribly overwritten, but then most things like this are," he commented with a sigh.  "I just don't understand why it was written in Tes'ri.  The knife is most definitely from the culture, it fits, but this person is using Vetrian grammar.  The two are similar, of course, but it makes the words quite . . ." Wesley blinked, looking up at Rupert.

"You've thought of something?"

"It's not a warning . . . or a threat!  It's an instruction."  Wesley gasped, shaking his head as he stood.  "In Vetrian there's different punctuation for things intended as a warning, or a threat and neither are used here!"

Rupert stood and Wesley could see the confusion on his lover's face.  Then he saw it begin to clear.  "Bugger it all," Rupert sighed, raising a hand to his forehead.  "They needed Buffy to get the knife for them."

"That's why they came after us, why they took the pages.  They had to know we'd want to know what was on them!"  Wesley slumped onto the sofa.  "We did exactly what they wanted and now they have the knife."

The phone rang and Rupert rose to answer it, leaving Wesley sitting there pondering the depths of his stupidity.  He should have spotted it and he hadn't even thought that--

"Xander, slow down!"  The frustration in Rupert's voice broke into his thoughts and Wesley stood, turning to look at Rupert.  "I don’t--What's wrong with Buffy?  Xander, I . . . we'll be there soon."  Rupert hung up with a confused and worried look on his face.  "We have to go," he said, turning to find Wesley already grabbing his jacket. 

"What's wrong?"  Wesley was truly beginning to hate those words.

"I'm not sure.  That was Xander and he was babbling."  Rupert grabbed his jacket and keys.  "Something about Buffy and a demon.  Sex was in there somewhere, but I'm fairly certain it didn't have to do with the rest, or . . . if it did I don't won't to know how.  Especially given Xander's history."


	13. Chapter 13

Wesley was right on Rupert's heels as they entered the library.  Buffy was walking toward Rupert the moment they'd entered the door.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She shouted, face contorted with anger.

Wesley resisted the urge to take a step back, his mind already flying.  They knew.  They knew that he and Rupert were lovers.  Wesley had actually feared this moment, in between his more pressing fears, of course.  He'd had no idea how they were going to react, but he didn't think it would be particularly good, especially if Buffy's reaction was anything to go by.

"W-what?"  Rupert shook his head, but Wesley knew Rupert had come to the same conclusion.  It was subtle, but as soon as Buffy as asked, Rupert had taken a step in front of Wesley, as if he were going to protect him.  The gesture was both endearing and annoying.

"I almost fainted!  And everyone was looking at me funny, probably because I was standing there with my mouth hanging open, but it was a big thing and . . . I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

Wesley stepped forward, trying to find the words to explain.

"I mean?  Telepathy?  Has to be the coolest thing in the Slayer toolbox!"

"What?"  Both Rupert and Wesley said it together.  Wesley couldn't look away from the Slayer, who was grinning like a lunatic.

"Telepathy?"  Wesley felt as if the train of thought behind this conversation had just run him over.  "We should have told you . . . about telepathy?"  _Not about us being together?_

Buffy's eyes went even wider and she stared at Wesley as he'd just insisted the sky was green and little blue mice were eating his feet.  "W-what?  You and . . . and _Giles_?  _T-together?_ "  Her mouth hung open.

Stunned silence hung the library.  Wesley found himself rooted to the spot, certain his entire face had to be crimson, not to mention the rest of him.  In that moment, he thought he might just be about to prove it was possible to die of mortification.

"Now, Buffy," Rupert began in a soothing tone.  Wesley couldn't even bring himself to look at Rupert, since his entire body seemed frozen.  He and Buffy just stared at one another.

"Like . . . _together_?"  At the sound of Cordelia's voice, Wesley almost groaned.  This was not going to go well and he was beginning to panic.  His throat was closing up, breathing becoming more difficult.

"Wesley and I," Rupert began again, removing his glasses and rubbing at his eyes, but was cut off once again.

Buffy whirled on the others.  "Would you people stop _thinking_ about that!  And, Cordelia, that is _absolutely_ gross!"

"You mean, Giles and Wesley are . . ." Xander shook his head, smiling insanely.  "But that's great!  I mean, it's . . . well, um."  He looked very confused for a moment, glancing at Cordelia and then at them and making a face.  "Well, it's kinda . . . creepy, but . . ."

"Okay, am I the only one who didn't know Giles was gay?" Willow put in, her eyes big and round.

"That's enough!"  Rupert shouted and Wesley's eyes whipped toward his lover, as did everyone else's.  "My private life is not up for discussion.  Do you all understand?"  There were several nods, but none of them were Buffy's.

"I knew it!" She shouted, shaking her head.  "Well, no, because . . . _ew_ , but I knew you and Wesley were too cozy.  I _knew_ it!  Except . . . I had no clue you were . . . Okay, that's not something I ever want in my brain again, Cordelia!."  Buffy was pacing, shaking her head and then she stopped, gaping at them once more.  "But I knew you two were hanging out a lot and that's just not normal or-or--"

"Buffy," Rupert actually growled, pointing to the office.  Wesley was on his way to it immediately, because he was not going to be left out here with Xander, Willow, and Cordelia.  Buffy might be in the office, but so was Rupert and that at least made it a fairly neutral place at the moment.

Buffy was following behind him, muttering to herself.  Wesley took up a position in the corner of the office, somehow feeling better with his back to the wall.  Rupert shut the door behind him and Wesley busied himself by noting each and every sign of his lover's frustration.

"Buffy?  Completely disregarding the fact that you seem to be able to read minds, which we most certainly will be discussing in just a moment, why did you seem to believe it would be perfectly acceptable to announce that Wesley and I are lovers?"

"Lovers?"  Buffy almost choked on the word, shuddering faintly.  "Okay, that's not a word I ever need to hear you say again," she grumbled, before shrugging.  "I'm sorry, Giles.  I just . . . it was a surprise and . . . you didn't tell me that either!  And Wesley?  Why . . . I don't want to know."  She gave a shudder.

Rupert sighed, looking rather torn and Wesley decided to step forward.  "Buffy, it was I who didn't want to tell you a-about us.  If you are going to be angry at anyone, it should be me."

"Mad?  I . . . okay, I'm really grossed out," Buffy said with a slightly confused expression.  "I mean . . . it's just kinda outta nowhere and . . . Giles is way too old to be getting smoochies, from anybody but--" She winced then and Wesley was fairly certain his thoughts were the cause.  Until she turned on Rupert and he held up his hands.

"I'm sorry."

"I mean . . . why didn't you tell me Giles?  Okay, so high 'ew' factor, but don't you think I should get to know?  Know, in a very limited capacity, though.  I mean, I definitely don't want to hear about it, or . . . see it, or . . . think about it, but . . ." Buffy shook her head again.

"Buffy, I had rather hoped you would be happy for me," he said, the slightly sad edge to his voice making Wesley want to go to him.  He held himself still, of course, waiting.

"Oh . . ." Buffy looked torn now.  She stopped, watching Rupert intently for a moment before her face cleared a bit and she looked as if she'd just been given a shock.  She had, of course.  Wesley sighed, waiting for her to process it all.  "I am," she finally said, though she didn't sound as if she was sure of that.  "Well, okay, I don't get it.  I so don't get it, but . . . it's like when Xander was dating Cordelia, right?  So . . . okay.  Okay.  I get it."

Wesley raised an eyebrow, confused by the apparently one sided conversation and yet quite relieved that Buffy wasn't going to . . . to what?  Run screaming?  Be angry, he supposed.  Though he didn't know she wouldn't be angry at him, he wasn't really worried about that.  He didn't want to have damaged her relationship with Rupert.

Rupert ducked his head and Wesley was fairly sure that it was to hide a smile.  Sighing, Wesley tried, desperately, to get the discussion on a much more comfortable topic.  "Buffy?  Slayers aren't supposed to develop telepathy."

"They're not?"  She looked tired, unconsciously reaching up a hand to rub at her forehead.  "Because that was pretty much the only thing I could come up with."

"No, telepathy isn't normally a Slayer talent," Rupert agreed, sitting on the edge of his desk.  Wesley went to sit next to him, embarrassed to do so in front of Buffy, but wanting very much to be next to Rupert.  He made certain not to actually touch the other man, however.  "So, we need to, uh, to find out how this came to be.  Has anything out of the ordinary happened recently?"

Buffy snorted, shrugging.  "Take your pick, right?  I guess there were those demons last night and, oh, rash!"  She held up her hand for Rupert and he to examine.  Rupert took her hand, pulling her closer so that he could look at it under the magnifying glass.

"Hmm.  It seems an ordinary rash.  Tell us about these demons."

Wesley listened intently as Buffy described them, reaching for a book just as she mentioned the fact that they didn’t have mouths.

"Because they're telepathic," Buffy said, drawing both his and Rupert's eyes.  "Oh, I heard both you guys think it.  Uh, sorry.  You two do that Watcher in stereo things in your heads too?  That's . . . kinda creepy actually."

Wesley turned the book he'd opened so Buffy could see it.  "Is this what they looked like?"

"Yeah!  There were two of them."

Wesley nodded, scanning the lines beside the picture for some idea of what they were dealing with.  "Hmm."

"What?" Both Rupert and Buffy asked at the same time.  Wesley looked up and blinked.

"She's right.  That is rather . . . creepy.  Uh, it says that they can infect the host."

"Infect?"  Buffy didn't sound pleased.  Rupert leaned over, reading over his shoulder.  Wesley moved the book to make it easier on him, both of them caught up in the descriptions.  "Hey?  Guys?  _Infect_?"

"Oh, uh, infect the host with an aspect of the demon. That's all it says," Rupert replied with a slightly puzzled shrug.

"An aspect of the demon?  Like . . . a part of it?  So it just means the telepathy right?  I’m not like going to sprout a tail or . . . baby demons or anything?"

"Uh, no," Rupert said with a slight laugh.  "I think it means the telepathy."

"Okay, that's good.  Telepathy, I can deal with, but I don't want a tail."

"Yes, well," Wesley cleared his throat, glancing at the door.  He was rather startled that Buffy was . . . accepting of Rupert and his relationship, in fact he was stunned, but she was only one of the people whom he'd have to face.  "Uh, do you think they've gone?"

"No," Buffy said, giving him a not entirely friendly look.  "They're wondering what we're doing in here.  At least Cordelia is.  I never knew she had such a vivid imagination."  Buffy scrunched her nose up and shuddered.

Wesley groaned, resting his head in his hands as Buffy left.

"I believe she was kidding," Rupert remarked and the laughter in his voice was the last straw.

"Do you think this is funny?" He asked between clenched teeth, raising his face to glare at Rupert.

Rupert opened his mouth to reply and then winced, sighing.  "I . . . I don't think it's necessarily bad that they know, but--"

"Not bad?  Are you insane?"  Wesley felt his hands clenching into fists as he paced.

"Wesley?  When was the last time the children treated you as an outsider?"

Wesley stopped his pacing, turning to meet Rupert's eyes.  He thought about that, hard, trying to recall.  Xander had been hostile, suspicious, and Willow and Buffy had both teased him, but he wasn't sure whether or not there was malice in it.  Of course, after the look Buffy had given him . . .

"Xander?  Two days ago.  The others . . . not as often, or recently," he said softly, feeling his eyebrows draw together.  "You, uh, don't . . . you don't think they're going to be, er, odd, about it?"

"Well, uh, I would expect some jokes, especially from Xander, though he might simply attempt to avoid the whole issue.  Uh, Willow will be extra careful in attempt not insult either of us, which is probably going to lead to babbling.”

"It's just, uh, rather embarrassing," Wesley commented before he'd really thought through how it sounded.  "Uh, not-not that I'm embarrassed about being with you, just--"

"Other people knowing?"  Rupert put in with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, but not the way you meant . . ." Groaning, Wesley gave up, laying his head in his hands once again.  At the sound of Rupert's chuckle, the feel of the man's hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, Wesley looked up with a morose expression.  "I'm not embarrassed by you, Rupert."

Rupert smiled, nodding.  "I know.  It's all right.  It will take time for everyone to adjust, but, you'll see, it will be just the same as it is with Angel and Oz."  There was a name Rupert was leaving off that list.  Faith had known about the two of them and she'd never made a joke out of it.  She referred to Rupert as 'his boy,' which Wesley thought was absurd on several levels, but she'd never made an issue of it.  He could only wonder why.

Sitting back on the desk next to Rupert, Wesley sighed.  "All right, but, uh, I'd still like to . . . well, uh, keep it quiet, if you . . . if you understand."

Rupert nodded, that warm hand never leaving Wesley's back.  "I know."  There was some slight sadness in Rupert's voice, but Wesley was too relieved to pursue the subject now.  Later.  They'd talk about it later.  Much, he hoped.

"I'd . . . uh," Rupert began and there was something in his voice that made Wesley straighten up, look at him.  "Lately, I'd been thinking that it was, perhaps, the time to tell the children."

For the second time that day, Wesley felt rooted to the spot.  He blinked, trying to assimilate that information and everything it meant.  Rupert had said that he'd want to tell the children if things between them ever became . . . something more.  Wesley suddenly found it hard to breathe again and whether that was panic or something else he had no idea.  Then Rupert hopped off the desk, moving to stand before him.  Wesley looked at him, almost certain his confusion showed on his face.

"You don't agree?" Rupert asked softly, his hands cupping Wesley's face.

Wesley opened his mouth and then shut it, swallowing hard.  It took him a moment to gather words.  He reached up and covered Rupert's hands with his own.  "I think that, uh, it was . . . from my end . . . I think it was time a while ago," he said softly, his eyes moving to Rupert's chin because he simply couldn't meet those gorgeous eyes just now.  "Do, uh, you . . . do you remember when we went to your flat after retrieving the knife from that tomb?  You said that, uh, that you were ready to listen whenever I decided to tell you what that was all about?"

Rupert's eyebrows rose, a smile twitching his lips.  Wesley couldn't help but smile as well, seeing that look on Rupert's face.  It eased a bit of his nervousness, at least enough that he could breathe again.

Rupert bent forward and Wesley moaned softly at the feel of his lover's lips rubbing against his own.  The kiss contained many smaller ones, some brief, wet and opened mouthed, others only quick nibbles interspersed with much slower licks.  When Rupert pulled away a bit, Wesley sighed, still smiling.  Their faces were just inches from one another and Wesley's eyes flicked between meeting Rupert's gaze and staring at his lips.

"We should go back to investigating the knife," Wesley said reluctantly.

"Yes, we most definitely--" Rupert leaned in again and Wesley parted his lips, his tongue darting out to lick at Rupert's lips, tasting.  The kiss only last for a few seconds before Rupert pulled back, panting.  "We definitely should be researching the knife."

Wesley nodded, his eyes still fixed on Rupert's mouth.  "Yes, and, uh, we have a new route to explore."  This time it was Wesley who ducked forward, taking Rupert's bottom lip into his mouth and sucking gently.  Rupert moaned and Wesley dove in to deepen the kiss.  Wesley pulled back when he needed to breath, rubbing his mouth along Rupert's jaw line.  "Buffy's telepathy could come in handy," he murmured, his mind working the problem while his body . . . made other plans.

"Wesley?"  Rupert leaned in and they were back to those small kisses again.  "Please don't mention Buffy when we're kissing.  All right?"

"I think I can refrain," Wesley answered, closing his eyes, his hands moving along Rupert's arms until the landed on his shoulders.  He kneaded, pulling Rupert just a bit closer, just enough that Wesley could feel the heat from his body.

The kiss changed, deepened.  Wesley groaned at the feel of Rupert's tongue moving along his own, their bodies suddenly pressed tightly together.  His hands moved over Rupert's back, Rupert's hands sliding down his chest and stomach to settle at his hips.

"Wow.  I was right.  That's hot." Cordelia's voice came from the doorway and Wesley jumped, freezing.  Rupert pulled away, closing his eyes and, Wesley thought, counting to ten.

"Cordelia, if this is not important--"

"Oh, no, it is!  Uh, Buffy kinda passed out in the cafeteria.  I told Xander and Willow not move her, but--" Wesley and Rupert were already running past her, out the door, and toward the cafeteria.  "Okay, rude much?  She's outside!"

Wesley wasn't sure how he made it through the rest of the day.  Once they'd gotten Buffy back to her home, he and Rupert had gone back to the library, back to the books.  From there they'd found an account of another man in Buffy's condition, except that he was now locked away in isolation, unable to shut out the voices in his head.

The recipe for the antidote was easy enough to find, the only problem being that they'd need the heart of the second demon to complete it.  Rupert's tension was a palpable energy around him, crackling when anyone, even Wesley, came too close.  They'd gone to Angel immediately and as soon as the sun had set, he'd gone out to hunt the demon.

Wesley stood in the hall outside Buffy's bedroom, waiting for Angel to arrive.  Rupert and Mrs. Summers were in the doorway, watching Buffy toss and turn.  There were hours until sunrise.  Angel had time.  That was, at least, what Wesley kept telling himself as the night waned and those hours slipped by.  There was nothing he could do except watch them suffer.  Not only Buffy, who looked so very small and pale, but Rupert and Mrs. Summers as well.

Rupert pulled away from the doorway, murmuring something to Mrs. Summers before turning to Wesley.  "I'm, uh, I'm going to sit out on the porch for a moment," he explained quietly.

"I'll come with you," Wesley replied, glad he had when a brief flicker of relief lit Rupert's eyes.  He followed Rupert to the porch, watching as the man glanced around.  Wesley thought he was hoping to see Angel, but there was no sign of the vampire.

"She'll go insane if he can't get it," Rupert whispered, slumping down onto the porch swing.  Wesley sat next to him, reaching out to take Rupert's hand and squeezing it gently.  There was nothing he could say to that, no comfort he could offer with words.

"It's, uh, it's odd to be waiting for Angel," Rupert said with a strange intonation.  "I know he loves her and she loves him, but . . . it's quite hard to look the man in the face and I make him very nervous.  Perhaps I should feel sorrier for that than I do."  Rupert let out a bitter chuckle and Wesley opened to his mouth and then shut it, deciding he shouldn't interrupt, especially when there was nothing he could do.  "I, uh, I told you that we'd talk about the . . . tension between Angel and myself later.  If, uh, if you like I'll . . . I'll tell you what happened."

"I read it," Wesley replied, softly.  "I read that part of your diaries."  Rupert nodded, his eyes never leaving the street.  He kept scanning it from one end to the other.

"I'd hoped you would.  Uh, so that I wouldn’t have to . . ." Rupert let his words trail off and Wesley didn't push.  Instead he leaned against Rupert, his thumb moving over the hand he held.  He didn't know if it was enough.  He didn't know how to offer any more comfort than this and yet Rupert's body relaxed slightly.

There was a shout.  Both men stood as a blanket covered someone came tearing down the street.  Wesley went to the door, throwing it open and then stepping aside as first Angel and then Rupert tore past him.  Wesley followed them, pushing the door shut, and then bounding up the stairs.

He stood next to Rupert as they watched Angel feed Buffy.  He helped to hold down the Slayer during her convulsions, doing his best to avoid Angel's desperate, questioning looks.  When Buffy calmed and her eyes opened, Wesley nearly shouted with relief.

He and Rupert left with Buffy.  She made Wesley promise he would take Rupert home to get some sleep, which put a very odd expression on Mrs. Summers' face and made Wesley blush like mad most of the way back to Rupert's flat.

Rupert all but collapsed on the sofa, his glasses tossed onto the coffee table.  He rubbed at his eyes, yawning widely.  Wesley watched him for a moment before going to retrieve a towel and his bath oil from the bathroom.

"Upstairs," Wesley said as he entered the living room again.  Rupert blinked at him, his eyes flicking down to the towel Wesley had draped over his arm.

"I'm too wound up to sleep," Rupert replied, though there was a hint of confusion in his tone.

"Upstairs," Wesley repeated with a smile, not giving anything away.  Rupert stood, giving him a confused smile before he turned to go, Wesley following him.

Once in the loft, Wesley set his supplies beside the bed, putting the bath oil out of sight since he found he rather liked keeping Rupert guessing.  Rupert crossed his arms over his chest, watching with a smile as Wesley spread the towel over the bed.  Once that was done, Wesley turned, walking over to Rupert and nudging his arms.  Rupert uncrossed them, but said nothing, waiting.

Wesley reached up, keeping his eyes on his fingers as he unbuttoned Rupert's shirt.  Rupert raised an eyebrow in question, but Wesley shook his head, giving Rupert an enigmatic smile.  His fingers slid under the waistband of Rupert's trousers and he unbuttoned those as well, pulling down the zip.  Leaning in close to Rupert's ear, he whispered, "Strip and lie down on your stomach."

Wesley glanced back over his shoulder as he turned to go get the oil.  Rupert's eyebrows were very high indeed, though he did what Wesley had said.  Rupert stretched out on the bed, his arms stacked beneath his head.

"I think, Wesley, that I should warn you that I'm utterly exhausted and as much as I'm enjoying this--which is very much, by the way--I don't think--"  Wesley hushed him, quickly stripping out of his own clothes and retrieving the oil.  He straddled Rupert's arse, getting a moan out of the man.  Smiling at that, Wesley began his massage, starting with Rupert's neck.  Rupert groaned and that only made Wesley grin wider as his fingers slid over tense muscle, kneading firmly and working his way down.

Rupert's back was a mass of knots.  Wesley patiently worked each of them out, chuckling at each moan and groan he pulled from Rupert.  Wesley kept working even after he'd thought Rupert had fallen asleep.  He slid his hand over Rupert's arse, scratching lightly over the skin.  It was Rupert's gasping groan when Wesley did so that let him know his lover wasn't, in fact, unconscious.

Wesley smiled, a tad wickedly, sliding one finger along Rupert's crease, pressing lightly.  Rupert gasped again.  "Wes?  Unfortunately, I don't think that--"

"I thought I told you to hush," Wesley laughed, slapping lightly at one firm arse cheek.  He hadn't expected to get the same gasping groaning from that.  Leaning to the side, Wesley meet Rupert's gaze, raising his eyebrows.  Rupert smiled, shrugging in answer to Wesley's question and then pointing to his lips.

"Ah, yes.  I did tell you to hush, didn't I?  Shame on me."  Wesley shook his head and went back to what he'd been doing.  Biting his lip, more unsure of himself than he was trying to let on, Wesley forged ahead, telling himself Rupert was half asleep anyway.  He parted Rupert's arse cheeks, studying the sight before him for a moment before rubbing his thumb over Rupert's entrance.

The man bucked beneath him.  Wesley left out a gasp of his own, his cock twitching.  At the moment, that was a sure sign it was time to stop.  Rubbing his hands up Rupert's back, Wesley rolled to lie beside Rupert.

"What was that all about?"  Rupert asked as he scooted closer to Wesley, tossing an arm over Wesley's stomach.

"I was, er, exploring, which sounds very silly, I know, but--"

"It doesn't sound silly," Rupert contradicted, his voice sleepy.  Wesley smiled at the sound as much as at what Rupert had said.

"Good.  Uh, perhaps I can . . . do it again?  When we're not both exhausted?"  Wesley's voice was quiet and he half-hoped Rupert had already dozed.

"I hope you will," Rupert whispered against his neck.  Wesley closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of Rupert, the weight of the arm draped over his stomach, the smell of the bath oil, the feel of the sheets.  All of it.  He took it in with every sense but his eyes, committing it to memory, just in case.

Tomorrow he'd call the Council.  Tomorrow he'd tell them about Faith.  Tomorrow he might be ordered back to England.  Would he go?  Lying there with Rupert snoring softly against his neck and the man's warmth surrounding him, he really wasn't certain.  That worried him more than a little.

**** 

Chased from sleep by vivid dreams, Wesley woke before Rupert.  Prying his eyes open, he looked over at the man.  Rupert was lying diagonally across the bed, his head pillowed half on Wesley's shoulder and half on his own arm.  Wesley sighed.

"That wasn't a particularly encouraging sound," Rupert said softly, one eye opening.

"I have to call the Council," Wesley blurted out, shrugging to hide his nervousness.

Rupert gave him an odd look at that, pulling back and propping himself upon his elbow.  "About Faith?  That's good.  They're going to have to be on the look out for her should she leave Sunnydale."

"Yes, but after I argued for her being allowed to stay . . ." Wesley shook his head, refusing to meet Rupert's eyes, afraid of what he'd see there.  "They might take me off this assignment."

Rupert's hand--which still rested on Wesley's stomach--twitched slightly.  "You think they'll decide you aren't fit to be the active Watcher and want you to go back to England for another assignment?"

"Yes," Wesley murmured, sliding his hand over Rupert's.  He was pathetically grateful that Rupert hadn't pulled his hand away.

"Will you go?"

Wesley gave a snort of sad laughter.  "I knew that would be the first thing you'd ask."

"It's an important question."  Rupert's voice was more serious, carefully neutral.  Wesley bit his lip and shrugged.

"I don't know."

"I see."  There was still no emotion in Rupert's voice, but the inflection had changed somehow, become harder.

"I want to be here," Wesley rushed to clarify, glancing up to meet Rupert's gaze.  He was surprised there was no disappointment there, no anger.

Rupert nodded, a thoughtful look on his face.  "Then the question is, if it comes down to a choice between obeying the Council and staying here, do you want to be here enough to tell the Council to bugger off."

Wesley nodded, swallowing hard.  Rupert hadn't moved away from him, however, hadn't turned away.  In fact, Rupert's fingers moved slowly over his stomach, rubbing small patterns.  Neither of them spoke.  Wesley tried to come to a decision, tried to unravel the tangle of emotions and thoughts and sort them into neat, separate piles so that he could analyze it all.  It had never been so difficult to know what to do before he'd come to this town.

"Rupert?" He asked softly, wondering if the man had fallen back to sleep.

"Hmm?"

"Would you hate me if I couldn't quit the Council?"

Rupert's eyes opened and he stared at Wesley for a long moment.  "Of course I wouldn't," he said softly.  "I would miss you, but of course I wouldn't hate you."

Wesley nodded, giving Rupert a sad smile.  "I should go make the call," he finally said, though he was certain his voice told of his reluctance to move.

Rupert nodded.  "Good luck." 

Wesley sighed and stood, pulling on his sweatpants and taking the steps more slowly than he normally would.  He stared at the phone on the desk for a long while before finally picking it up.  It was early enough that no one would be at lunch.  Now was the time to call, if he were going to do it.  Finally dialing the number, Wesley sat in Rupert's chair, his eyes moving over the desk.  His fingers traced its edges and then traced the grain as he waited.  After a moment, the phone was answered and Wesley asked for Travers.

"Mr. Travers, it's Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.  No, I . . . I'm calling to inform you that we have a rogue Slayer.  Faith."

The silence that greeted his announcement was sharp and painful.  Wesley closed his eyes, waiting for what felt like forever.  This was it.  Even if they didn't call him back to England, his father would hear about this.  He'd have to call the man eventually, and when he did . . .

"She's gone rogue?"  Travers' voice was hard.

"Yes.  She . . . she's working with Mayor Wilkins and has made an attack on Buffy."

"I see."  What followed was a tirade that left Wesley feeling four years old, his stomach clenched tight and his head spinning.  The blame, it was clear, would be placed squarely upon his shoulders and, truthfully, Wesley agreed that that's where it belonged.

"How are you planning on handling this situation?"

"I'm sorry?"  Wesley nearly groaned as soon as the words left his lips.  He simply hadn't expected Travers to ask such a question.

"How are planning on handling Faith?  I assume you have worked out some sort of strategy.  Surely you're not planning to simply let her roam free and homicidal."

"Of course not, sir," Wesley found himself saying, blinking as he mind raced.  A plan.  "At the moment we're still attempting to locate her.  We know she's in Sunnydale, but haven't pinpointed where she's staying.  Once we find her, we'll observe her and plan from there."

"Reasonable.  I want to hear, immediately, if Faith leaves Sunnydale."

"You will.  Of course."

Travers said his goodbyes and Wesley responded in a daze.  Hanging up the phone, he stared at it for a long moment, only looking up when he heard Rupert's footsteps.

"I'm to deal with her," Wesley said, still dazed.  "They, uh, they're not pulling me out."  The last bit was said in a tone of utter relief.

Rupert smiled, but it was a dim thing compared to his usual grin.  "I'm glad."

Wesley stood, moving to meet Rupert as he came around the desk.  Wesley slipped his arms around him, relieved when Rupert's arms moved to hold him in return.  After their earlier conversation, he'd not been entirely sure of his welcome.  They watched one another for a moment and then Wesley leaned in, tasting Rupert's lips, feeling them part for him.  He licked along them before thrusting his tongue inside, meeting Rupert's.  Though the kiss began slowly, soon Wesley was pressing forward hard, Rupert meeting him with equal fervor.

Wesley needed that, needed to feel Rupert respond to him.  Rupert squeezed at the back of Wesley's neck with one hand, the other gripping his hip.  Wesley pressed himself tight against Rupert, his fingers dipping slightly into the drawstring sweats Rupert had put on to come downstairs.  Rupert moaned and Wesley bucked his hips forward, echoing the sound when his half-hard cock ground against Rupert's.

He pushed his hands into the sweatpants, sliding them down over Rupert's arse, scratching lightly, hoping for the same reaction he'd gotten the night before.  Rupert's cock twitched against him and Wesley pulled away from the kiss, groaning.  They were both panting, chests moving fast and hard with each breath.  Wesley darted in, biting lightly at Rupert's collarbone.  Rupert arched, a soft, longing sound passing between his lips.  Wesley bit just a tad harder before moving on to the bit of flesh just beside Rupert's nipple.  He bit there too, reveling in the growl that got him from Rupert.

Wesley groaned as Rupert retaliated, beginning to lick at that sensitive spot behind Wesley's ear.  Rupert's hands were moving over him, traveling Wesley's skin as if he were trying to memorize it.  Rupert's lips moved lower, nibbling lightly.  "Turn around," he said against Wesley's jaw line.

Seeing the mischievous light in Rupert's eyes, Wesley complied, looking at his lover over his shoulder.  "What are you up to?"

Rupert pressed his body tight to Wesley's back, his arms coming up to wrap around Wesley's stomach.  Rupert kissed at that spot just behind Wesley ear again, murmuring.  "You seemed quite interested in my office, yesterday.  When I mentioned what would likely happen if we didn't stop touching one another?"

Wesley thought for a moment and then he remembered.  The desk.  Being bent over it.  His heart picked up its pace, his eyes skittering to Rupert's desk.

"I want you," Rupert said in his ear.

"Here?"  Wesley gave Rupert a startled look, though his cock hardened further at the words.  "In the living room?  Rupert, what if one of the children show up?"

"The door is locked."  Rupert scraped his teeth along Wesley earlobe.  "The peep hole's shut."  Rupert's hands slid over his stomach, making Wesley's muscles jump and pulling a gasp from him.  "The blinds are drawn."  Rupert bit lightly at his shoulder and Wesley's back bowed slightly.  "And I have this incredible urge to see you bent over my desk."  As nice as the nibbles to Wesley's neck felt, they weren't what made him shiver, made his cock pulse and his mouth go dry.

"You seem to like the idea," Rupert chuckled, the fingers of one hand caressing the skin just above Wesley sweatpants, sneaking slowly under the waistband.

Wesley groaned, pushing his arse back against Rupert.  "Yes," he finally managed.

"You want me to fuck you over the desk?"  Rupert's voice was deep, intense, still carrying a hint of that earlier growl in the words.

"Yes," Wesley knew he sounded breathless.  Rather hard not to when one could barely breath. Rupert's fingers brushed the head of his cock and Wesley whimpered.  Rupert's other hand was lying flat on his stomach, pulling their bodies together.

"Say it?" Rupert asked, his hips bucking forward, hard cock rubbing firmly against Wesley's arse.

"I, oh God, I want . . . I want you to-to fuck me over the desk."  Wesley thought he might be blushing, but it was hard to tell with his skin tingling all over anyway.  Rupert groaned against his skin and Wesley echoed the sound.  Rupert's fingers wrapped around Wesley's throbbing cock and Wesley bucked into the grip, moaning.

The hand that had rested on his stomach moved to Wesley's shoulder blade, gently pushing him forward.  Gasping, Wesley took a step closer to the desk, his mind a riot of thoughts, heart pounding.  Slowly, he bent forward, a slight, breathless sound escaping him at the cool wood against his overheated skin.

He swallowed hard, his breath coming faster.  Rupert's fingers slipped into his waistband.  "God, Rupert," he said, his hips jerking of their own volition as Rupert dragged the sweatpants down his hips until they pooled at his feet.

"Shh, I'm right here," Rupert replied.  He took a step away and Wesley almost straightened.  "I'm not leaving, Wes.  Just getting undressed."

Wesley was somewhat calmed, but his heart still beat fast.  He felt vulnerable like this, somehow more exposed than he did in Rupert's bed, or even on the sofa.  He'd never really thought about how open the flat was, how visible he was.  The thought sent a throbbing jolt of arousal through him and Wesley bit his lip to keep from making a sound.

Then Rupert was behind him again.  He shivered as Rupert pressed against him, just as naked and just as hard.  "You're beautiful like this."

Wesley shuddered, reaching his hands out to grasp the far side of the desk.  Rupert's hands were on his back, starting just above his arse and rubbing, firmly, upward.  Wesley arched into the touches and then groaned as Rupert laid his own body along Wesley's.  Bending over that way pressed Rupert's cock hard against his arse.

Then Rupert was straightening again, bring his nails down Wesley's back.  Wesley arched, groaning.  One of Rupert's hands slipped lower, fondling Wesley's balls.  Wesley found himself let out a series of small, gasping pants.  The hand on his balls moved higher, gripping his cock.  Wesley choked back a groan, finding it hard to keep his hips still.

Rupert squeezed his cock and Wesley felt the air against it, cool where precum had pooled.  Rupert swiped his thumb over the head and Wesley jerked forward again, moaning as Rupert pulled back his foreskin.

"Rupert, _please,_ "

"I'm here," Rupert said.  Wesley heard a drawer open, but his focus was far more on Rupert's hand, squeezing and pulling at his prick.  He wasn't going to be able to take this much longer.

"I love seeing you so wanton," Rupert said, his hand sliding down to the base of Wesley's cock, circle it in a tight grip, staving off Wesley orgasm.  "You’re always so controlled.  I love seeing you lose it."

Wesley whimpered, pushing his arse back against Rupert, gratified by the groan he drew from the man.  Rupert stepped slightly away from him and Wesley whimpered at the loss, making to stand.

"Just a moment," Rupert said and Wesley heard the tear of a condom package.  Anticipation flared hotter inside him and Wesley took deep breaths as he waited.  He heard the click of a lid and his only thought was to be thankful Rupert had some sort of lubricant down here.  Cool, extremely slick fingers moved along Wesley's crease, teasing.

"Rupert, please," Wesley begged, rocking back against the touch.  Rupert relented with a slight chuckle, pushing two fingers inside Wesley in one quick thrust.  Wesley gasped, thrusting backward.  Rupert's fingers slid over his prostate and he shouted, unable to clamp down on it.  Rupert worked him hurriedly, sliding them in and out and pressing another finger inside.

Wesley came off the desk, pressing his palms against it for better leverage as he pushed hard against Rupert's hand and then jerking forward into the fist Rupert wrapped around his aching shaft.  His nerves felt as if they were on fire and Rupert's mouth was suddenly on his neck again, licking and biting as Wesley fucked himself on Rupert's hand.

"God, so damn eager," Rupert groaned against his skin.

"More," Wesley gasped, tilting his head back and moaning loudly.  Rupert withdrew his fingers, but Wesley barely had time to complain before Rupert pressed into him, hard and fast, nearly frantic.

Wesley pushed hard against the desk, frozen for a moment, speared by Rupert's cock and so damn close to coming.  Rupert began stroking him again as he withdrew.  Wesley groaned, his balls drawing up and tightening as Rupert slammed back into him.  He was pushed forward, the desk hard beneath him, Rupert bending over him.  Wesley felt his whole body begin to tingle, balls tightening as he came, clenching around Rupert's cock and milking himself in his lover's fist.  His orgasm hit him hard, his body alive with feeling.

Rupert kept moving, a long, low moan issuing from his lips as hips jerked faster and faster.  Wesley clenched tighter, felt Rupert's cum-slicked hand move to his hip.  He pressed back to meet the thrusts and Rupert went still, gasping out Wesley name.  There was a long moment when they were both frozen, reeling.

Then Rupert's weight slumped onto him and Wesley sighed happily.


	14. Chapter 14

Wesley looked up from his book for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes.  His eyes met Rupert's over the coffee table, both of them smiling before looking back to their respective texts.  Wesley shook his head at himself, though he couldn't seem to make himself stop smiling as he attempted to buckle down to the work at hand.

Right then, there were enough things going bump in the night in Sunnydale to start a really horrid rock band.  He and Rupert had been working themselves to exhaustion and still they knew so little.  At this point they were taking turns just to give themselves breaks from the same subjects.  Today was Rupert's day researching the knife while Wesley attempted to figure out what the Mayor's Ascension would hold for them.

He had managed to exclude one possibility.  The Ascension did not include the ritual flaying of the demon Azarath, and, though you never really could tell with demons, Wesley was betting Azarath was fairly glad.  Unfortunately, it gave them nothing to work with.

"Azarath is safe," Wesley announced bitterly.

"Damn," Rupert muttered.

"You have something against Azarath?"  He looked up to find Rupert staring at two or three pages of their notes.

"Never met him, but . . . I think you and I have been overlooking something."

"Damn.  What?"  Wesley stood and went to Rupert's side.  He rested his chin on Rupert's shoulder and read over the page Rupert was looking at, but he saw nothing he hadn't read a hundred times.  Of course, that was what 'overlooking' meant.

"We know that this knife was made by the Tes'ri, the inscription on the tomb was written in Tes'ri, using Vetrian grammar.  All the people we've come across from this group are human and they're dedicated.  We assumed a cult linked to the demon horde that marauded this area, one devoted to whatever Hellgod commissioned the knife."

"Well, the kind of dedication it takes to commit suicide under such circumstances is usually linked to religious passion," Wesley said with a shrug.  "I don't understand what you're getting at."

"You have a note here about a Vetrian group that came to this area some years before the death of the horde leader?

"Yes.  There's no record of what they did, but the Vetri are usually not ones for out and out slaughter.  They prefer to cause havoc through trickery . . . Oh, good Lord."  Wesley rocked back on his heels, considering.  "You don't think these humans are disciples of the _Vetrian_ group?"

"They've been known to use humans before," Rupert said, reaching for another book.

"But . . . Why?  They've definitely caused quite a lot of havoc and confusion, but they're not chaos worshipers, they still need a reason to do things."

"So do chaos worshipers," Rupert commented off handedly, "they just need less of one than most people would.  That, however, is beside the point.  I don't know what their reason would be, but considering the Vetrian grammar of the inscription, it makes sense.  They've been tangled up in this somehow.  Somewhere along the line a Vetri, apparently posing as Tes'ri, wrote that inscription."

Wesley nodded, working through the problem from this new angle.  "Well, you're right.  It makes more sense this way.  We'd been through everything a Tes'ri cult might want, everything from raising their Hellgod to resurrecting the horde leader from his bones and none of it fits.  The knife doesn't have that kind of power; it mostly serves as a test, a demon's idea of an oath of fealty, and comes with a built in low-grade curse that only effects the wielder if they're disloyal.  It's . . . it's nothing."

"So . . ." Rupert looked at the mounds of books piled around the coffee table and shrugged.  "Now we see if we can fit the Vetrian group into this mess."

"I don't know how we would.  We're missing something," Wesley sighed, returning to where he'd been sitting.  "Why now?  Why would they bother?  The knife is nothing important in and of itself, why go to this much trouble to get it out of that tomb?"

"Well, uh, what events are happening soon?  Anything that might be meaningful?"

"The Ascension if we don't find something," Wesley muttered and then looked at Rupert.  "You don't think this could have something to do with Mayor Wilkins, do you?"

Rupert tossed his glasses on the coffee table rubbed at his eyes.  "Honestly, I have no idea."  

****

Wesley shut his book, glancing over at the office.  He needed a break from the translating, from words in general.  As much as he normally loved research, at the moment he was contemplating whether or not blowing up the library would be particularly helpful.

"I want to leave Sunnydale," Buffy announced, striding into the library.

Wesley stood, blinking.  "I don't understand."

"I want to leave," Buffy said with a shrug, her expression saying without words that Wesley should know what she was talking about.

Wesley opened his mouth, thought for a moment and realized the best he could come up with was, "What?  Now?"

"No, not now.  After I graduate.  You know?  College?"  Buffy huffed, glancing over to Rupert as he came out of the office doorway.

"Buffy, I know we've talked about your going away--"

"I got into Northwestern," She announced, smiling at Rupert. 

He returned it, nodding.  "That's wonderful news.  Good for you"

"Buffy, that is wonderful news," Wesley agreed.  "But there's so much to deal with right now.  Faith gone bad, the Mayor's Ascension coming up . . ."

"I know it's complicated," Buffy put in, giving him a pleading look.  "I'm aware that my graduation may be, among other things, posthumous, but . . . What if I stop the Ascension?  What if I capture Faith?"

"I very much hope you will," Rupert put in with a small sigh.

"If I do that, then all you guys have to do is keep the run of the mill unholy forces at bay through mid-terms and I'll be back in time for Homecoming.  And every school break after that.  Can we at least think about it?"

"Perhaps," Wesley allowed.  "If circumstances were different . . ."

"I'll make them different," Buffy insisted, her posture straightening and a look of determination on her face.  "I'm tired of waiting for Mayor McSleaze to make his move while we sit on our hands counting down to Ascension Day.  I mean, let's take the fight to him." 

"No.  No!" Wesley jumped in at once.  "Much too reckless.  We're at a distinct disadvantage.  We don't know anything about the Mayor's Ascension."  He glanced to Rupert for support, but Rupert shook his head.

"She's right."  Wesley felt his jaw drop at Rupert's words.  "Time's running out.  We need to take the offensive."  He turned to Buffy and Wesley followed his gaze, still in shock that Rupert had agreed to this insanity.  "What's your plan?"

"I gotta have a plan?  Really?  I can't just be proactive with pep?"

"No.  You want to take the fight to them?  I suggest the first step would be to find out exactly what they're up to."

"Oh.  I actually knew that.  I thought you meant a more specific plan, you know, like with maps and stuff.  Great.  We'll find out what they're up to."

Wesley stared at them both, wondering when they'd both completely lost their minds.  Buffy bounced out of the library and Rupert turned back to him.

"How could you encourage such recklessness?"  Wesley sank down onto the library table, blinking rapidly at Rupert.  "She's going to get herself killed!"

"Wesley . . . She's right.  We've been through everything we can find with even the smallest reference to Ascension and we've got nothing."  Rupert paced the floor in front of Wesley, his agitation obvious.

"I know you're frustrated, Rupert, as am I, but this is a dangerous move."

Rupert turned to him, sighing as he stepped forward and laid his forehead against Wesley's.  Seeking comfort as well as offering it.  "We've got nothing.  If we're going to stop this, we need more."

"Even if that means putting Buffy at risk?" Wesley asked, though the fight had gone out of him.  Despite himself, he was seeing Rupert's point.

"Buffy is always at risk.  She's just going to do some recon, basic tactics when all other means of information gathering are out."  Rupert shrugged, stepping away a little.  "We have to do something.  You and I are killing ourselves to find a single scrap of information.  We're not going to be able find out in time.  We need more."

Wesley sighed, and nodded.  "You're right.  We need more information.  I just don't want to do anything rash."

Rupert smiled at that, reaching out to brush his fingers along Wesley's cheek.  "I know.  Neither do I.  We'll see what Buffy finds out and what she wants to do next."

Wesley nodded, glancing back at his books and trying to inject a note of humor into his voice when he said, "Does this mean I can take a small break to realign my eyeballs and, perhaps, straighten my back?"

Rupert raised his eyebrows at that, smiling crookedly.

"Stop that, Rupert."  Wesley rolled his eyes fondly, smiling as he stretched.  "I was actually hoping for a little exercise."

Rupert said nothing, only tilting his head and smiling again.

"You, my love, have a dirty mind," Wesley grumbled.  "So what will we be crossing?  Staves or swords?"

"You're doing that on purpose!"  Rupert accused with a laugh, following Wesley to the book cage.

"It's certainly not my fault if you can't get your mind off of me," Wesley shrugged, pulling two fencing foils from the weapons cabinet and tossing one to Rupert.

"You do realize that I'm going to thoroughly trounce you?"  Rupert's smile turned smug as he backed out into the library.  Wesley would have to make sure he never let Rupert know how much he liked that swaggering attitude.  Rupert was dangerously attractive as it was.

"Probably," Wesley allowed.  "Hand to hand weapons were never my best.  I'm much better with ranged weapons."  Wesley began a sequence of blows, mostly just to get a look at what he was up against, and realized Rupert wasn’t just being arrogant.

****

After parking Oz's van, Wesley found himself glowering at City Hall, already tense enough to scream.  The 'plan' had been far too hasty, with no time for real consideration, or even observation of the target.  Wesley clenched his teeth, glaring at Rupert and his offer of tea.

"I can't believe you backed them on this.  Rupert, one more day of planning would not have hurt anything."  Rupert handed him a cup of tea anyway and Wesley took it, sighing as he stared at it.

"Wesley," Rupert sighed, shaking his head.  "I had no choice.  Supporting her decisions is imperative and she wasn't going to be dissuaded.  She can take care of herself and Angel will see to Willow.  They'll be fine."

Wesley wasn't sure who that last bit was intended to reassure.  He stared at City Hall and shook his head.  "We have no control over any of this," he finally said, his eyes flicking down to his tea.

"No," Rupert agreed softly.  "It's all up to her, Wesley.  That's exactly why she has to rely on her own judgment."

"And what if she's wrong?  We all die because she makes a miscalculation?  No, Rupert, don't answer that."  Wesley already knew the answer to that question.  Frighteningly, he also realized why the Council had become what it was.  It was an attempt to feel as if they had some say in, some control over their own lives.  They could all fight with everything in them and it would always come down to 'one girl in all the world.'  That was hardly fair, to any of them, including Buffy.

Rupert's hand slid into his and Wesley sighed, squeezing slightly.

"Scary thought, isn't it?"  Rupert's voice was hushed, as if they were sharing a secret and Wesley supposed they were, in more ways than one.

"Terrifying.  Uh, not-not because I don't believe Buffy's good enough or smart enough, but . . . she's human.  Mistakes happen all the time.  No one person's judgment will ever be completely without flaw.  We fight, day after day, take duty onto our shoulders, just as Buffy does, and it all comes down to her.  God, I feel so sorry for her.  And for us."  He saw Rupert nod out of the corner of his eye and turned to face him.  "That's what you were trying to tell me, wasn't it?  About Faith?"

Rupert shrugged, suddenly looking far more tired than was usual.  "In a way, though I don't think I managed to put it as eloquently as you just did.  I once told Buffy she was lucky to have purpose in life.  She said, 'can't I just have a life?'  She's managed both, as much as is possible.  It's their choices.  Always their choices.  The rest of us can only support them and hope to teach them . . . I don't know, teach them whatever Slayers need to know.  The trouble is, I think, figuring out what that is."

Wesley snorted, nodding.  He leaned in and kissed Rupert's temple and then turned back to watch the entrance to City Hall.  They sat in silence, both of them sipping their tea, waiting.  Both of them grew more and more tense as time passed and Willow had still not returned.  Rupert shifted in his seat.  "Willow should have come back by now."

"She might have stayed with Buffy and Angel.  There could have easily been further wards that needed her attention once they were inside."  Wesley purposely did not point out that that was exactly why further observation before starting this would have been helpful.

"You're right."  Rupert still didn't sound particularly happy.  Just then there was a commotion at the front of the building.  "That, I think, is our cue."

Wesley nodded, starting the van and pressing hard on the gas.  The tires squealed as he drove past the front of the building.  To his surprise, Rupert leaned out the van's window, shouting at the vampires.  Wesley reached over and grabbed the man's belt, trying to tug him back inside.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"  He asked, trying to split his attention between Rupert and the road ahead of them.

"Getting their attention," Rupert called, laughing.

"You're insane," Wesley shouted, but he was laughing too, finding it almost impossible not to when Rupert was insulting the vampire's lineage in Cantonese.  When their pursuers fell behind, Rupert slid back inside, still chuckling under his breath.

"And I thought you'd keep the children from doing anything rash," Wesley muttered, though he was still smiling and gave Rupert a fond glance.

"Wherever would you get that idea?"  Rupert shook his head, nodding toward the next street.  "We should get back to the library and destroy that damn box."

Wesley snorted and pointed the van in the school's direction, anxious to get this all over with.  Shortly after, he and Rupert entered the library to find a ring of worried faces.

"Willow's not with you?" Xander asked as soon as they entered, hopping down from the library table and taking a step toward them.

"No," Wesley needed only to glance at Rupert's face to see the dawning horror.

"How did you guys let . . ." Buffy began and then let her words trail, sighing and clearly trying to collect herself.  "How did this happen? 

"We thought she stayed with you," Rupert explained.  Wesley stepped nearer to Rupert, wanting to offer comfort, but having none to give.  If Mayor Wilkins and his people did have Willow . . . This was going to be bad. 

"They must have grabbed her when she hit the ground," Angel said.  "Buffy, I'm sorry."

"Look, it's nobody's fault, okay."  Buffy's voice was the sound of stress itself, as tense as her body as she paced.  "We just need to focus and deal.  Oz, I swear I won't let them hurt her."

"We go back," Xander suggested.  "Full-on assault."

"They'll kill her," Rupert said in a voice that might have seemed calm if Wesley hadn't known him so well.  The sound made his throat tight, made it even harder for him say what he was thinking, though he knew he had to.

"We're assuming they haven't already," he kept his voice quiet, trying to control his frustration and worry.  He wanted to step closer to Rupert, to touch his lover and soothe him with false promises that Willow would walk through the door at any moment.  He wished he could, could offer something other than the hateful words he'd just spoken.

"No." Buffy contradicted.  "No, they know what she means to us.  She's too valuable as long as we still have the box."  Wesley let out the breath he'd been holding, nodding.  She was right.  Willow was alive for the moment.  They just had to find a way to keep her that way until they'd destroyed the box and formulated a plan to get her back.  Buffy's next words made Wesley's stomach drop.  "We trade."

"We can't," Wesley spit out automatically, forgetting to guard his tone.

"No, it's the safest plan." Buffy said, looking to Rupert for support.  "It's the only way, right?"

"It might well be."  The reluctance in those words made Wesley want to wince in sympathy, but he had to stand his ground.  They were talking about the lives of thousands of people and someone had to remind them of that.  If Rupert couldn't, Wesley would.

"Look, we call the Mayor and arrange a meeting," Buffy began, but Wesley stepped forward, shaking his head.

"This box must be destroyed."  He worked to keep himself calm this time, trying to hold back his fear.  There would be time enough for that later.  Now, he had to get Buffy and the others to listen, whether they wanted to or not.

"I need a volunteer to hit Wesley," Xander said, glaring at him hard.

"Rupert, you know I'm right about this," he said, looking for back up in the face of the palpable anger in the room.  He realized no one wanted to hear this, no one wanted to consider it, but someone had to make them listen.

"Wes, you want to duck and cover at this point?"  Buffy stepped toward him, her jaw clenched tight and her posture rigid.  Wesley faced her, desperate to get her to understand.  His frustration got the better of him.

"Damn it, you listen to me!  This box is the key to the Mayor's Ascension.  Thousands of lives depend on our getting rid of it.  Now I want to help Willow as much as the rest of you, but we will _find another way_."  He wanted her to know that he wanted to rescue Willow as much as they did.  He didn't want her hurt, or dead any more than he wanted the sun to fail to rise, but there were other things at risk, so many people who didn't know the risks.  He knew that attitude probably made him seem cold, but he hardly cared at the moment, except that it made the others less likely to listen.

"There is no other way," Buffy insisted.

"You're the one who said take the fight to the Mayor."  Frantic, Wesley searched for anything he could use, any leverage that might make Buffy stop and think here.  They had the means to stop the Mayor in their grasps.  "You were right.  This is the town's best hope of survival.  It's your chance to get out."

He knew those were the wrong words as soon as they spilled from his lips.  From the corner of his eye, Wesley saw Rupert cringe.

"You think I care about that?  Are you made of human parts?"  Buffy stared at him in disgust and Wesley had to hold himself from flinching.  It didn't matter what she thought of him, if he could get her to listen.  It didn't look as if that were going to happen, but that didn't mean he didn't have to try.

"All right!"  Rupert snapped, drawing all eyes.  "Let's deal with this rationally."

"Why are you taking his side?" Buffy asked, incredulity heavy in her voice.  "Just because you two are--"

Rupert and Wesley both jumped in before she could finish that sentence and soon all three of them were shouting, trying to be heard.  Wesley raised his voice just as Buffy and Rupert both went quiet.

"You'd sacrifice thousands of lives?" He asked.  "Your families, your friends?  It can all end right here. We have the means to destroy this box."

There was a crash from behind him and Wesley spun around.  His eyes found the pot they'd needed to destroy the box in shards upon the floor.  He looked to Oz, who stood there, silent, meeting his gaze.  They stared at one another for a moment and Wesley heard Buffy say, "Giles, make the phone call."

Wesley turned, watching Rupert head to his office before he looked back the others.  Xander was still giving him that glare, as if he were trying to set Wesley aflame using just the power of his anger.  Wesley ignored it, looking to Buffy.  He opened his mouth to speak and she held up a hand, shaking her head.  "Don't Wesley.  Really, you've said enough."

Wesley sighed, closing his eyes as he slumped into one of the chairs.  Removing his glasses, he tossed them onto the library table and rested his head in his hands.  Except for the murmur of Rupert's voice from the office, no one spoke.

He heard Rupert's familiar footsteps come from the office.  Rupert stopped beside him, laying a hand on Wesley's shoulder, but addressing everyone when he said, "He'll trade.  In the cafeteria, in an hour's time."

"Than we'd better get to work," Buffy commented.  Wesley listened to the others footsteps, waiting until the room fell silent again to look up at Rupert.

"You know I'm right," he said softly, seeing Rupert flinch.  Pushing his chair back, Wesley rose, straightening his suit.

"Wesley, it's--"

"Later.  We'll talk later." Wesley said, unsure that he could keep himself calm if he and Rupert had this discussion now.  "Apparently, we have a trade to make."

Wesley glanced over, finding the box gone, and went to join the others in the cafeteria.  He heard Rupert sigh behind him and then heard him following.  In truth, Wesley also wasn't sure what there was to say between the two of them.  Three times in a single day, he'd been shut out, his opinions and thoughts cast aside without even being given a moment's consideration.  Rupert had already made his position on that clear and, to some degree, Wesley understood that it came down to what Buffy chose.  That didn't mean Rupert couldn't at least do him the courtesy of listening.

Once in the cafeteria, he found the others working to block the windows and all the doors save the front entrance.  He understood the strategy behind it, but it made him shiver.  Being locked inside this room was not his idea of a fun evening, not that he had any hopes that this would be anything resembling fun.

No one asked his help, but Wesley joined in anyway.  He didn't agree with this plan.  He thought it was a disastrous decision, but it was going to happen whether he wanted it to or not.

Several times, he caught Rupert watching him as they prepared for the Mayor's visit.  Each time he glanced away quickly, trying to keep his composure.  He was angry, hurt, but he didn't know what to say and he didn't think that was going to resolve itself soon.  Finally, they were finished.  Oz and Xander tested each of the doors.

"The whole place is locked down, except for the front," Oz pronounced.

"Yeah, it gives me that comforting trapped feeling," Xander said and, for once, Wesley couldn't have agreed with him more.

"One way out means one way in.  I want to see them coming."  Even as Buffy finished the words, the lights switched off, throwing them in near darkness.

Wesley sucked in a breath, his heart beat picking up to a rapid pace, adrenaline flooding his system.  Suddenly, the uneasiness in his gut tripled, leaving him jittery and finding it hard to breath.  Rupert's hand landed on his back and, despite his current feelings, Wesley felt himself calm a bit, felt his body react to Rupert's nearness and the heat that soaked through Wesley clothing and into his skin.

The doors were thrown open by two vampires in game face, who held them as Mayor Wilkins entered.  Wesley eyes slipped from him to Faith, who followed, hustling their hostage before her.  Faith held a knife to Willow's throat, seeming so calm that Wesley felt bile rise.

The Mayor advanced nearly to the center of the room, Buffy stepping up to face off with him.  "Well, this is exciting, isn't it?"  He chuckled, voice so cheerful Wesley felt a sudden urge to take Rupert's bat and see just how far Wilkins' invulnerability extended.  "Clandestine meetings by dark of night.  Exchange of prisoners.  I just, I feel like we should all be wearing trench coats. 

"Let her go," Buffy said, cutting right to the point.

"No," The Mayor countered.  "Not until the box is in my hands.  So you're the little girl that's been causing me all this trouble.  She's pretty, Angel.  A little skinny.  Still don't understand why it couldn't work out with you and my Faith.  Guess you kind of just have strange taste in women."

"Well, what can I say?  I like them sane."  Wesley sighed as Angel said those words, his eyes skipping to Willow as she made a pained sound.  Faith tightened her grip around Willow.

"Angel," Oz said in a warning tone.

"Well, I wish you kids the best, I really do.  But if you don't mind a bit of fatherly advice, I, uh, I just don't see much of a future for you two."  Wesley tuned out the Mayor's words, his eyes focusing on Faith, wondering if he could get through to her, even though he knew it was foolish to even consider.  She'd used him to find ways to make herself better and then betrayed him.  Not that she hadn't betrayed them all, but Wesley had truly believed they'd been getting somewhere.

Faith looked up, as if sensing his gaze on her.  She met his eyes and some strange expression crossed her face.  She opened her mouth, as if to say something though he knew that couldn't be her intention.  Then she looked away, focusing her eyes on Mayor Wilkins, her expression hardening.

Wesley closed his eyes for a moment, but snapped them open when he heard the Mayor say, "Make the trade."

Angel and Faith approached one another cautiously.  Wesley kept his eyes on Faith, watching her body for even the slightest sign that she was going to make an unexpected move.  He stared so hard he thought he must be burning holes in her skin.  They traded, Willow going to Oz at once and Faith retreated with the box.

"Well, that went smooth," The Mayor said with a vicious little smile.  The front doors opened again and Wesley's eyes flew to them, expecting more vampires or demons.  Something, some trick on the Mayor's part that would turn this into a slaughter.

What he saw instead was Principal Snyder and two uniformed police officers.

"Nobody moves!" Snyder shouted, glowering at them all.  Wesley's eyes flicked to the Mayor, who stepped back into a darker part of the room.  One of the policemen locked the front door and Wesley felt his throat begin to close up.  Rupert was still beside him, but the man's hand was gone, both of them firm on the baseball bat Rupert had felt the need to grab.  Wesley wished he'd have thought to find a crossbow.

"I knew you kids were up to something," Snyder was saying.  When Buffy tired to tell him to leave, he glared at her.  "You're not giving orders, young lady.  I suppose you're going to tell me I won't find drugs in this box."  Snyder grabbed the box out of Faith's arms and Wesley's eyes went wide as Faith pulled her knife.

"Wait!" Buffy snapped at Faith.  Wesley wasn't sure Faith would, for a heartbeat.  He thought she'd actually stab Snyder right then and there.

"Principal Snyder," Mayor Wilkins said, stepping out of the dark part of the room.  Snyder turned at the sound of Mayor's voice and Wesley watched his eyes grow wide as he saw Faith's knife, bared and ready to strike.  Wesley eyes focused on the knife as well and he sucked in a breath.  Whatever words were spoken then became background noise as he squinted in the darkness, trying to be sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

"Rupert," he whispered softly.  Rupert leaned toward him, though, like Wesley, he never really took his eyes off of what was happening.  The difference was that Wesley's eyes were still on the knife.  "Rupert, that's the knife.  Faith has the knife from the tomb."

"No!  Don't do that!" the Mayor shouted and Wesley eyes snapped to him and then to where he was looking.  One of the policemen had opened the box and then dropped it as something spider-like leapt out.  It attached itself to his face and the man began to scream, the sound filling the cafeteria.  He reached up, tried to pry it away and all Wesley could do was watch as he collapsed to the floor, ceasing all movement and sound a moment later.

The spider skittered away into the shadows and Wesley began looking for it, shifting around between the chairs and tables.  "Oh God," he breathed.

"Where did it go?"  Xander was not the only to ask that question, but he was the one Wesley heard.  They were all shifting about, eyes trying to penetrate the shadows.

Snyder shouted, "Get that door open!"

And Wesley heard Rupert shout, "No!  You can't let that thing out of here!" 

Glancing over to the policemen, Wesley saw that the man hadn't listened to Rupert and was already fumbling with his keys.  Wesley couldn't take his eyes off the shadows for long, however, and so heard rather than saw the keys drop to the floor.

"I still want to know where it went," Xander said and, for the second time in one night, Wesley found himself in total agreement.

"Listen," Buffy said softly, but everyone quieted, suddenly listening hard.

There were skittering sounds, so low Wesley couldn't identify their location at first.  A strange, soft keening sound brought his, and most everyone else's, attention to the ceiling.  Wesley heard the Mayor shout and his eyes snapped to the man.

Faith shouted, "Boss," and ran to help him.  She ripped the spider free, throwing it against the wall.  Wesley's eyes followed it as it hit, flipped itself upside right again, and skittered out of sight.  Swallowing hard, Wesley reached for the chair beside him, glad to find Rupert doing the same.  He stepped up onto the table, trying to get a high enough vantage point to spot the thing.

The sound of something slamming caught his attention.  Wesley's eyes whipped to the box, which Buffy had just closed.  His sigh of relief was premature.  One of the creatures dropped onto her back.  Buffy flipped over, crushing it on the floor.  Biting his lips, Wesley began to look around for the last one.  His eyes caught on Faith, who was staring at him.  He watched in horror as her arm drew back, knife held for a throw.

"No!" He shouted, ducking down and covering his head as the she let go of the knife.  He heard it hum through the air above his head, heard it thunk into the wall behind him.  He stood, turning slowly, blinking at the carcass of one of the creatures from the box, pinned to the wall by Faith's knife, their knife, the knife from the tomb.  He stared at it for a long moment before looking back to Faith.  The Mayor had the box in his arms, looking far too damn happy for Wesley's peace of mind.

"Is that all of them?" Oz's asked.

"Ah, not really.  You see, there's about fifty . . . billion of these happy little critters in here.  Would you like to see?"  There was a rattle of keys and Wesley looked toward it, watching as the policeman finally got the door open and raced from the room, followed quickly by the two vampires that had come with Mayor Wilkins. 

"Faith, let's go."  The Mayor's voice recalled Wesley to his thoughts and Wesley turned to Faith, finding her watching him.  Their eyes met and he saw a look of uncertainty cross her face.

"Faith," both he and the Mayor said together.  Faith remained still for a moment, then turned and left.

Wesley deflated, any energy he'd had remaining draining away as he climbed down from the table.  Rupert's hand brushed his arm and he looked over to his lover, finding a sad, sympathetic look in Rupert's eyes.  Wesley ducked his head, but pressed his shoulder to Rupert's, silently thanking him.

"Well," he said, "that went swimmingly."

"We did alright," Buffy replied and then went to where Wesley had been standing.  She climbed up onto one of the chairs and pulled the knife from the wall.  She stared it for a moment, turning it over in her hand before she turned to Rupert.  "This is the knife from the tomb!  How the hell did Faith get a hold of it?"

"Wesley noted that," Rupert replied, shaking his head.  "I can't imagine that it was the Mayor's people who attacked us.  It doesn't seem his style, but . . . I don't know."

Buffy sighed, motioning with the knife toward the doors.  Wesley followed the others, wanting to hear from Willow what had happened.  Perhaps they could divine some much needed information from something that had been said in her presence.  They had no other options now.

When they reached the library, Buffy put the knife in Rupert's office.  Willow and Oz spent a moment together, which Wesley did his best to ignore.  In fact, he stayed at the back of the group, letting the others give Willow hugs and exchange fast paced babble about the evening.  He was the only one not granted a moment of her time, but he understood that.  She'd likely be angry when she'd heard what he'd said, but as much as Wesley disliked that thought, he knew he'd been right.  They should have found another way, a way to get Willow back without giving up the box, a way to destroy the box after exchanging it for Willow.  If Buffy had only listened to him for a moment, he was certain they could have come up with something.

Eventually Oz, Xander, Cordelia and Angel left and it was only Buffy, Willow, Rupert and himself.  Wesley kept his distance, unsure how to feel or what to say.  Willow told them about her 'adventure'.  When she mentioned the books of Ascension, both he and Rupert perked up, but she kept going, telling Buffy about her encounter with Faith.

"This is fascinating," Rupert put in, "but let's get back to the point.  You actually had your hands on the Books of Ascension?"

"Volumes one through five," Willow replied with a smile.

"Is there anything you can remember that could be of use to us?  Anything at all?" Rupert pressed her, leaning forward eagerly. 

"Well, I was in a hurry, and what I did read was kind of over-involved.  If you ask me, way over-written.  Actually, there were a few pages that looked kind of interesting but I didn't have a chance to read them fully."

Wesley wilted at that, leaning back against the wall.  Rupert frowned and sighed, shaking his head.  However, Wesley straightened when he saw Willow draw something out of a pocket, holding it out to Rupert.

"See what you can make of them?" she said, smiling once again.  Rupert grinned hugely, taking the papers and glancing at Wesley.  Unable to help himself, even in his current mood, Wesley gave Rupert an encouraging smile.  Rupert turned and went to his office, apparently to begin the research.  Wesley stared after Rupert, barely hearing the chatter between Buffy and Willow.

"This is your night for suave, Will.  You should get captured more often."

"No, thank you."

Wesley glanced back at them, watched them treating this like some victory.  Stepping forward, he said, "Well, let's hope there is something useful in those pages.  The Mayor has the Box of Gavrock.  As of now, we are right back where we started.  Wouldn't you say?"  He stayed long enough to see the frown cross Buffy's face before he went to see Rupert.

"Rupert?  Do you think they'll be of help?" he asked softly as he entered the office.  Rupert glanced up at him, smiling widely.

"It's possible.  There's a lot here, though."  He looked back to the papers and Wesley saw his shoulders move in what Wesley supposed was a sigh.  "It's going to take me a while to get through it . . . especially if I'm working alone."  Rupert glanced at him, the smile replaced by a serious expression, a question in the tilt of his head.

"For tonight," Wesley answered glancing down.  "I'm exhausted," he added with a sigh.

"Go home," Rupert replied with a nod.  "Get some sleep."

"No, uh, I'll-I'll be at my flat." Wesley turned, heading for the office door.

"Wesley?"  Rupert's voice had him stopping, though he didn't turn back.  He couldn't, couldn't bear to look at Rupert again if he wasn't going to be able to touch him, kiss him, be near him.  And he couldn't, not when he felt so very useless.  If he had nothing to offer here, if his thoughts weren't worth anything, his being here had no point, no purpose.  He'd lost Faith and now he'd lost whatever creditability, acceptance, he'd managed to garner from the children with his knowledge.  Even Rupert didn't want to hear what he had to say.

"Yes?"

"I . . . I had to support her, Wesley.  I don't know how else I can explain it.  The Slayer comes first, always, but I . . . I don't want to lose you."  Wesley heard Rupert take a step nearer and had to leave, had to go before he threw away all self-respect.

"I'm not lost," he said softly.  Forcing himself to leave then was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.  His stomach knotted tight.  He felt as if he'd just stepped off the edge of cliff.  "I'll be at my flat," he said once again, over his shoulder, before leaving the office.


	15. Chapter 15

The more time Wesley spent in his flat, the more he hated it.  Not just disliked it, but loathed every single thing about it.  He remembered those three days he's spent in it when the Council had come to town with a certain nostalgia.  Then he'd known it was only for a little while.

There were certain similarities to this routine and the one he'd established with Rupert.  He still stayed in bed for as long as he could manage, only instead of being warm and wrapped in Rupert's arms, he felt chilled no matter the actual temperature.  He'd lie there, staring at the ceiling and wondering how hard it would be today.  Would he be able to keep himself from watching Rupert's hands as they turned the pages of a book?  Would he find himself daydreaming of stolen kisses in the office, the stacks, anywhere they could get away with it?

He knew the answers, but each day he promised himself he'd stop.  He'd stop watching Rupert when the man wasn't looking.  He'd stop finding excuses to go into the office, filled with Rupert's things.  He'd stop missing the feel of Rupert's chin resting on his shoulder as they both examined a text.  He'd stop feeling as if his world was a stack of useless, empty books with no one to share the frustrations.

 _This_ , Wesley thought as he tried to make himself get up, get ready, _is hell._   Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he glanced again at the phone.  Rupert had called once and only once, that first night.  Wesley hadn't been able to answer, to talk to him.  Rupert's message and been long, explaining again how he'd felt he had to support Buffy's decision and asking Wesley to please return his call.

Wesley still had no idea what to say to that.  He hadn't ever had to come up with anything.  The next morning he'd avoided Rupert because he was confused, unable to explain why he felt so off balance, why this mattered so deeply.  All he had to offer, beyond his body, had been rejected and he would not be reduced to trading his body for . . . affection, or whatever it was that Rupert had given him.

Shaking his head at himself, Wesley hurried through his morning rituals.  He showered quickly, dressing with care so as not to appear as off balance as he felt.  He was sure he ate something, though later he couldn’t have said what it was.

He arrived in the library slightly early, so as to be buried in research by the time Rupert arrived.  This time he took it one step farther, researching at a small table in the stacks.  It was getting harder and harder to look at Rupert, even though he'd sworn he'd stop doing this to himself.  He didn't seem capable of keeping that promise.

He heard Rupert enter.  Wesley's jacket was hanging in the office and Rupert would know that he had indeed arrived.  He wasn't sure whether or not the man would worry should he not find Wesley's jacket there, but Wesley didn't want to find out.  He very much feared Rupert wouldn't even notice.  Wesley was just beginning to force his mind back into the text when Rupert's footsteps caught his attention.  He looked up to find the other man standing there.

"Uh, I just . . ." Rupert licked his lips and Wesley's mouth went dry.  Neither of them moved, staring at one another.  Rupert glanced away first.  "I only came to get the Gertian works," he said, moving off down the row.

Wesley blinked and looked back to his notes, closing his eyes for a moment when the words blurred a little.  He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard the children arrive, their bright voices setting him on edge.  He'd not exactly been reading, but he hadn't exactly been thinking either and that was a plus.  Sighing, he began to gather his books and notes.  If Buffy had anything to report from last night's patrol, he needed to hear it.

"We, uh, we know the Ascension refers to a human transforming into a demon, the living embodiment of an immortal."  Rupert's voice reached him as he came out of the stacks.  "And Graduation Day, our Mayor Wilkins is scheduled to do just that."

"Trouble is," Wesley interjected, putting his books on the library table and carefully not glancing in Rupert's direction.  "We don't know which demon he is going to become."

"There are thousands of species," Rupert added.  Something twisted inside Wesley.  He missed this, the easy exchange of thoughts between Rupert and himself.  It hurt not to have that any longer.

"So, it's safe to say we shouldn't waste any time of such trifling matters as a school dance," Wesley grumbled, taking a seat.

"Well, that's too bad, because I bet you would look way 007 in a tux," Cordelia put in, choosing the chair beside him.

Wesley shrugged, glancing up at the children.  Xander was looking at Cordelia with an appalled expression.  Buffy and Willow seemed nervous, their eyes darting toward Rupert, who seemed to be ignoring everything.  Even Oz seemed edgy, a sight Wesley was sure he'd never actually witnessed before.

"Except," Wesley said, trying to break the tension, "on the actual night, I will be aiding Rup-Mr. Giles in his chaperoning duties."  Wesley winced and forced his eyes to his books.  If anything, the tension became even more palpable.  Buffy's voice broke the silence, bright and determined.

"We'll get you a dress," she was telling Willow.  "You know, we should check April Fools."

"Don't go there!  I shop there," Cordelia said, bringing a moment of silence once again.

"I myself am dipping into my road trip fund to procure a shiny new tux, so look for me to dazzle," Xander added.

"And I myself will be wearing pink taffeta as chenille would not go with my complexion," Rupert snapped and Wesley's eyes flew to him.  "Can we _please_ talk about the Ascension?"

"Giles, we get it," Buffy's voice was soothing.  "Miles to go before we sleep.  But especially if we're all gonna vaporize or something on Graduation Day, we deserve a little prommy fun.  One night of glory, not to much to ask.

Rupert seemed to give up then, throwing his hands in the air and retreating to his office.  Wesley had the urge to follow him, actually almost stood to do so before he remembered.  Closing his eyes for a moment, he once again focused on his research.

"He's just . . . tense," Willow said after a moment.

"Yeah," Buffy said, "tense."  And why their words suddenly made Wesley feel guilty, he refused to consider.  In fact, he refused to think about it most of the day, refused to consider why the children looked at him as if they expected him to do something.  The furtive glances were driving him slightly mad and every time one of them whispered to the other, Wesley was certain they were talking about him.

He spent most of his day moving between the table and the stacks.  Any time one of the children came in, he felt the need to hide, to avoid those looks.  He was, in fact, hiding when he heard Xander and Cordelia's voice, high with excitement or fear or both.  Wesley sighed and closed his eyes.  He took a deep breath to steady himself before putting his book aside and leaving the stacks to find out what was happening.

Xander was in the middle of describing an attack of some kind when Wesley emerged.  The young man was waving a tape around.  Willow was just finishing setting up a television and Wesley assumed they'd somehow gotten a video tape of this attack.  He tried to be unobtrusive as he joined them, wanting to know what had happened, but not terribly keen on catching any of their eyes.

When the video was cue up, Wesley watched in horror, his mind racing over what he was seeing.  He had to squint as he tried to learn as much as he could, tried to identify what they were seeing.  The first run through gave him little.  He was too busy seeing the whole picture to concentrate on the details.  As he watched the attack again, he narrowed his eyes at the grainy image.  It was actually a nice change from blurry text.

"Right there.  See, it's-it's like he just realized he forgot to put money in the meter or something," Xander was saying.

"You know the part that totally weirded me out?" Cordelia asked, "That thing had good taste.  I mean, he chucked Xander and went right for the formal wear."

"That's right.  He left behind his copy of Monsters Wear Daily," Xander sniped.  Wesley snorted quietly at that.

"I'm serious," Cordelia insisted.  "Look at the outfit that Xander's wearing.  Now look at the kid that the monster went after.  Very smooth lines, 'til he was shredded."

"I don't want to see it again," Buffy said, curling in on herself further.

"Buffy, I know it's horrible, but if you're going to hunt this creature you should study it," Rupert put in.

"Think I got it," Buffy countered.

"She's right," Willow jumped to back up Buffy.  "I mean, you've seen one big hairy bringer of death, you've seen 'em all."

"If I'm not mistaken, this is a hellhound."  Wesley found himself glancing to Rupert for confirmation without a thought and then cursed himself, looking away.

"Yes." Rupert agreed.  "It's particularly vicious.  It's sort of a demon foot soldier, bred during the Machash Wars.  Trained solely to kill.  They feed off the brains of their foes."

"Look!" Cordelia said, pointing excitedly at the television.  "Right there, zoom in on that."  Which, of course, led to Xander and Cordelia arguing.  Wesley sighed, glancing away to find Rupert watching him.

"What's that?  Pause it."  At Oz's voice Wesley looked away from Rupert, clenching his jaw.  Why was this so damned hard?  Focusing on the TV once again, he missed whatever Xander had said, but in the paused picture there was boy peering through the shattered shop window.  There was something in his hands, but Wesley couldn't make out exactly what it was.

"Hello, hellhound raiser," Xander put in.

"I think I know that guy," Oz said, standing.  "Do we have a yearbook?"

A moment later, Willow slid last year’s yearbook before Oz.  Wesley leaned on the table, trying to see without having to walk around to where Rupert was standing.

"Tucker Wells.  He's in my chem lab," Oz said, point to the picture of the boy.

"Let me guess," Wesley said.  "He was quiet, kept to himself, but always seemed like a nice young man."

"He didn't seem the murderous type anyway," Oz answered and shook his head.  "Something must have happened to him."

"Oh!" Willow called from her computer, drawing Wesley's attention.  "I got into Tucker's e-mail account.  Listen to this message Tucker sent to this kid David Metz at school last week.  'The Sunnydale High lemmings have no idea what awaits them.  Their big night will be their last night.'"

"So," Rupert summed up with a sigh, "We have a threat against the students on their big night, a hellhound trained to attack people in formal wear . . ."

"Oh, are we all catching up now?" Cordelia interjected.

"Tucker is planning to attack the prom tonight," Rupert finished.

"Once again, the Hellmouth puts the special in special occasion," Oz said, glancing back to the picture in the year book.

"Why do I even buy tickets for these things, I ask you?"  Xander tossed a book onto the table, shaking his head.

"Wonder if I can take my dress back?"  Willow glanced over at Oz, dangerously close to a pout.  Wesley felt rather sympathetic.  Not that he was particularly looking forward to the Prom, but he'd been listening to how excited they were for days.

"Don't you dare," Buffy stood, walking toward the table.  

"But Tucker is going to . . ." Willow gestured to the screen of her computer.

"No!" Buffy insisted.  "You guys are going to have a prom.  The kind of prom that everyone should have.  I'm going to give you all a nice, fun, normal evening if I have to kill every single person on the face of the earth to do it."

Wesley raised both eyebrows, but it was Xander who took the words out of his mouth.

"Yay?"  It wasn't long after that Wesley somehow found himself going to check Tucker's home, with Cordelia in tow.  He wasn't sure the day could go any more downhill.

Luckily, he didn't have to spend an inordinate amount of time with Cordelia.  It wasn't that she was unpleasant company, really.  Under other circumstances, he might have found her forthrightness . . . intriguing, certainly he'd have found it flattering and probably flustering as well.  Now, however, it grated on his nerves.

Tucker's home turned up nothing.  The boy's parents weren't terribly helpful and, in fact, seemed rather confrontational.  Cordelia wasn't willing to spend too long investigating, either.  There was the prom to get ready for after all.

Wesley wasn't looking forward to that.  He dropped Cordelia off at her car and then drove back to his own flat.  As was usually these days, his spirits only deflated when he walked through the door.  The place was cold, sterile.  He hadn't had the time, or inclination given how much time he'd been spending at Rupert's flat, to do anything with the place.  Not that he was even sure what to do.  The few things he'd brought with him from home were already put away and still the place looked empty.  Given his tenuous position, he wasn't even certain it would be worth it to have more of his things shipped.

Sighing, he forced himself to focus on the tasks at hand, getting his tuxedo and going to take a shower.  He made it quick.  Showers were always quick these days.  Otherwise he ran the risk of thinking of other, less lonely, showers and that was simply a very bad idea.

Wesley stood, dressed only in a towel, before the mirror in his bathroom, studying himself.  The mirror was slightly fogged, giving him a fuzzy reflection, but Wesley didn't particularly want to see himself clearly.  He was a fool who had given up the one thing that made him feel capable of living in this horrible place.  He still couldn't decide what he should say to Rupert, if he would even listen, if it even mattered any longer.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Wesley tried to bring his mind back to the present.  The tuxedo he'd bought fit well enough, he supposed, but he was delaying putting it on because he couldn't seem to stop fidgeting with it.  Cuffs, collar, tie, over and over again.

Sighing, Wesley put his hands on the sink, leaning forward and closing his eyes.  Rupert would look fantastic in a tuxedo.  He was sure of it.  The thought of seeing him did contradictory things to Wesley.  He stomach was tight with anxiety, but other parts of him were tight with quite another feeling.

Closing his eyes tighter, he tried not to remember Rupert's hands on his chest, or . . . sighing Wesley looked up and shook his head at himself.  He glanced down at the towel, and the erection it covered, with a sense of dread.  How was he going to get through this without begging Rupert to talk to him . . . touch him?

Wesley cock throbbed, rubbing against the rough cotton of the towel and pulling a slight moan from his throat.  His breathing picking up, Wesley bit his lip, contemplating doing something he knew from experience would leave him feeling guilty and pathetic.  His cock didn't seem to care much about that, however.

Closing his eyes, Wesley let the towel drop to the floor, wrapping his hand around his prick.  Squeezing lightly, he let himself moan, remembering when he and Rupert had done something similar.  They had just finished a shower and Wesley had been washing off the last of the shaving foam.  He'd bent over the sink and suddenly Rupert was there, pressing against him from behind.

Wesley let out a little gasp, squeezing himself tighter, remembering how hard Rupert's cock had been, the feel of it pressed tight against his arse.  Rupert's hands had slid over his back.  Rupert had thrust his hips forward, his cock wedging between Wesley's arse cheeks.  Wesley had braced himself against the sink then, moaning as he pressed backward.

Now he turned and leaned backward against the sink, beginning to stroke slowly along the length of his shaft.  He forced himself to keep the rhythm slow as he built the memory up, wanting to get through it all, wanting to relive every whimper and sensation.

Then, Rupert's hands had slipped around to the front, rubbing over Wesley's nipples, his chest, his stomach.  They'd settled on his hips for a moment, pulling their bodies even tighter together.  Rupert's prick had rubbed against his entrance with every stroke and Wesley had begun making noises he couldn't describe.

Now, Wesley swept his thumb over the head of his cock before pushing back his foreskin, adding it to the long, slow strokes.  He tilted his head back, feeling it touch the mirror and hardly caring as he brought his other hand up to roll his balls.

Then, Rupert had teased him, fingers brushing light patterns over Wesley cock, making it twitch and ache.  Wesley had pressed back harder, whispering his lover's name.  Rupert had scratched lightly down his shaft before letting his fingers close around Wesley's balls.  He'd squeezed at them, tugging lightly until Wesley was panting and whimpering.  Their bodies had moved together.

Now, Wesley couldn't keep the pace slow any longer.  He began to thrust into his hand, hips snapping as he remembered how Rupert's callused fingers had been slicked with precum, sliding smoothly along Wesley cock.  He remembered Rupert's cock, rubbing against him hard, faster and faster, both of them losing themselves in the sensations.  He remembered Rupert's breath in his ear, the man's lips traveling his neck and shoulder, whispering things no one had ever said to Wesley before.

_"I love the way you move, Wes."_

_"You feel so damn good against me."_

_"Love to see you so eager, hot for it."_

_"You're beautiful like this."_

Wesley thrust hard into his own tight grip, feeling his balls draw up tight, orgasm rushing through him, lighting sparks along his nerves and fires behind his eyes.  He let out a shout as he came over his fingers.  What he shouted now was the same as it had been then.

"Rupert!"

****

Wesley didn't know how long he stood there, watching Rupert talk to people, watching him watch.  Feeling rather pathetic over his lack of courage, Wesley bit his lip and went over what he wanted to say, how he wanted to start things off.  It was far from eloquent, even farther from intelligent.  His hope, at this point, was that it was coherent.

Taking a deep breath, Wesley turned toward the door.  He couldn't do this, didn't even begin to know how.  He came face to face with Buffy.

"Leaving already, Wes?" she asked, looking only curious though there was a craftiness to her eyes that warned Wesley something was afoot.

"I, uh, I thought I'd get some fresh air.  Rather stuffy in here," he murmured, moving to step around her.  Buffy moved into his way again.

"You're not even going to say 'hi' to Giles before you go?"

"He, uh, he knows that-that I'm here," Wesley said softly, unable to look Buffy in the eyes.  What did she think she was playing at?

"Oh, believe me, I know that.  But you haven't talked to him, have you?"  Buffy gave him a head on stare and Wesley sighed.

"Who I do and do not speak to is no business of yours," he finally said, trying once again to get around Buffy.

"Wesley, you've been staring at him since I got here and Willow says since she got here."  Buffy sighed, the innocent façade falling away.  "Look, I don't know what happened, but I know you're the one who . . . ended it, I guess.  He's moping.  He's not himself.  I don't want to do this to him again."  Wesley glanced up at Buffy's words, feeling his forehead furrow.  "Please?  Just talk to him?"

"Do what to him?" Wesley couldn't help but ask.

Buffy looked nervous for a moment, then she shrugged, fidgeting with her 'Class Protector Award'.  "Uh, when . . . You know about Jenny, right?"

Wesley nodded, motioning for Buffy to continue.

"When we found out that she . . . that she was here to keep an eye on Angel's curse . . . I was so mad and-and I told her to go away and Giles backed me up.  He-he stopped seeing her and I know it hurt him to do that.  By the time I . . . by the time I realized what it was really doing to him . . ." She shook her head, shuddering faintly.  "If I hadn't done that, he and Jenny might, um, might have had more time together before . . ." Buffy shrugged.  "Talk to him, okay?"

Wesley opened his mouth and then shut it, trying to figure out where to begin.  "First," he said, slowly, "I'll talk to him.  Second . . . Buffy, this has nothing to do with you.  Does Rupert know you blame yourself for--"

"No.  And you're not going to tell him," Buffy countered, holding up what he guessed was supposed to be a stern finger.  "He doesn't need that.  He deserves something good in his life and . . ." Buffy gave him a teasing once over.  "Apparently, he likes you, for some reason."  The last words were in a more serious tone, but Wesley ignored it, glancing back to where Rupert sat.

Buffy made a shooing motion and Wesley, after a few deep breaths, headed over to Rupert.

"Rupert?  I'd like a few moments of your time, if, uh, if you're willing," he said, trying to remember exactly what he'd planned out.  He found, however, that now that he had Rupert's attention, he couldn't remember a word of it.  He slipped into the seat next to Rupert, forcing himself to meet those gorgeous eyes.

"If you're about to ask me if you should dance with Cordelia, don't."  Rupert's face was stony, cold.  

"Why, uh, why would you . . ." Wesley shook his head, trying to brush aside his confusion over that statement in order to get to what he wanted to say.

Rupert, however, seemed stuck on the subject.  "She's been staring at you all night," Rupert said softly, his eyes now turning back to the couples dancing.

Wesley stared, feeling his mouth drop open.  Rupert was . . . jealous?  That simply couldn't be right.  "Miss Chase is . . . the last thing on my mind," he said, drawing Rupert's eyes again.  "Rupert . . . I was hoping you'd come outside with me, uh, to-to talk."  

Rupert raised an eyebrow, but nodded.  His expression was impossible for Wesley to read, which only served to make Wesley more nervous.  Rupert motioned for Wesley to lead the way and they maneuvered through the crowd and then outside.

Neither of them spoke at first, walking side by side along the walkways.  Wesley was still trying to word this part, to find just the right way to say . . . whatever he was going to say.  His mind was jumbled with his thoughts.  He felt useless here.

The translations and research . . . it was nothing.  They could have found someone else to do that, Rupert did just fine by himself.  He didn't _need_ Wesley's help.  Faith . . . Faith had never really needed him.  She'd used him, but apparently the things he could help her with were not what she wanted.  Buffy certainly didn't need him.  Rupert was her Watcher, always would be, and she hardly needed two.  At the moment, his only saving grace, as he saw it, was that he was a link to the Council, but soon they'd realize he had no purpose here.  Perhaps they'd smarten up and reinstate Rupert.  However the Council handled the situation, it would be the last of his usefulness.  They would tell him to leave, and he would because he served no purpose here.  That didn't mean he didn't _want_ to stay.  He did.  Rather badly.

"What did you want to speak to me about?" Rupert finally asked, voice hesitant in a way Wesley had never heard before.

He turned to Rupert, making himself look into Rupert's face.  Still so many things to say, to explain.  He didn't know where to start, which only made him more surprised when words just jumped from his lips.  "I miss you."

Rupert's eyes widened and he blinked, his hand coming up to brush lightly down Wesley's cheek.  "I miss you too."  Rupert's voice was barely a whisper.  Wesley leaned into that light touch, his eyes fluttering closed.

And that simply, Wesley knew what he wanted.  Just a little more time.  The Council would make him leave eventually, probably soon, but until then, he wanted Rupert, wanted to feel comfortable and warm and . . . He opened his eyes, gaze lingering on the small smile on Rupert's lips.  He glanced up, meeting Rupert's stare.  He couldn't say for certain who moved first, only that they were kissing.  Wesley moaned, pressing his body to Rupert's and feeling something inside him, tight and twisted for days now, finally relax.

Rupert and he barely made it through the door.  The trip from the car had been difficult, though less so than the ride from the school.  Still, navigating stairs without taking his hands or lips from Rupert's body had been challenging, to say the least.  Both were lucky not to have bruises to show for the experience.

As soon as the door was closed, Wesley found himself pushed against it, Rupert's body pinning him firmly.  He groaned, head tilting back as Rupert's lips worked their way along his throat.  Rupert's hands were frantic, tugging at the buttons on his shirt, sending more than one skittering off across the floor.

Wesley cared not at all, clinging to Rupert and taking every opportunity to touch and taste.  He'd missed the warm smell of Rupert's skin, the feel of those callused fingers as they moved over him, the sound of Rupert's voice even though the words were muffled because Rupert didn’t seem to want to stop kissing him.  Not that Wesley objected.  He practically ripped Rupert's vest and shirt in his attempts to get them open.

Jackets, shirts, vests, ties, soon they were scattered around the floor by the doorway, both of them naked from the waist up and unwilling to stop long enough to go to the sofa, or the bed.  Rupert's hand slid down his stomach and Wesley gasped, body arching into the touch.  When those clever fingers opened his zip and slipped inside to squeeze his cock, Wesley nearly came then and there.

Swallowing hard, he gritted his teeth and stared at the hot look in Rupert's eyes.  He thrust into that tight grip, trying to keep his rhythm slow, trying to keep himself from losing control.  He didn't want this to be over so soon.  He wanted it to last, wanted to savor every moment and stretch them until they snapped and he had to move to the next.  Wesley was vaguely aware that he was whimpering, but most of his mind was concentrated on not letting himself--

"Come for me, Wes.  Need to watch you, see you."  Rupert's whispered words were what finally pushed him over the edge.  Wesley bucked hard into Rupert's hand, letting out a long, low groan and shuddering, coming over Rupert's fingers and his own tuxedo trousers.

Wesley gasped, glancing down at the mess and laughing at himself.  He looked up to find that intense look still on Rupert's face and his breath caught.  Rupert leaned forward and they were kissing again, all lips and teeth and pressure.  Wesley was panting hard by the time they pulled apart.

"Tell me what you want," he said softly, moving his lips to Rupert's throat.  Only Wesley found that once he began talking, he couldn't stop.  "I can feel how hard you are.  God, I missed you, missed this.  Tell how you want to come."

"Inside you," Rupert groaned, his hands working the button on Wesley's trousers and then pushing them down.  "Want to fuck you, Wesley.  Press into you.  Feel you move."

Wesley felt the breath leaving his body.  He nodded mutely against Rupert's shoulder as he kicked off his shoes and socks, stepping out of the trousers and boxers pooled around his feet.  "Need you," was all he could work out around the lump in his throat.

"Bed," Rupert ground out, and once again the two of them were stumbling, trying to keep contact and still not fall over.  Twice along the way they stopped, forgetting to keep moving.  Finally making it up the stairs, Wesley tumbled into the bed.  He was already naked and scurried into position on his knees and elbows.

"Turn over," Rupert said and Wesley looked over his shoulder, confused.  Rupert was stripping out of the rest of his clothing, but his eyes were fixed on Wesley, his stare so hot and hard it made Wesley shiver.

He turned over, a bit tentative.  They'd never used this position before, but with Rupert staring at him that way Wesley was fairly certain he wouldn't have said no to being hung upside down.  His eyes ran over Rupert's body, taking in every line.  Rupert kicked off his trousers and Wesley's eyes focused on the man's cock, jutting and hard, more than ready.  Finally naked, Rupert crawled up the bed toward him, stopping to kiss and lick along Wesley's thighs.

Wesley choked on a gasp, his spent cock twitching as Rupert worked his way up to Wesley's balls.  Rupert licked over the sensitized flesh and Wesley arched, a series of inaudible gasps coming from his lips as he watched Rupert.  The man's lips pressed against the base of his cock and Wesley had to force himself not to buck his hips as Rupert licked along his shaft, tasting the semen drying there.

Wesley's cock hardened under Rupert's tongue and lips.  Wesley reached out, one hand clutching Rupert's shoulder, the other tangling in his hair.  Rupert took the head of his cock between his lips and Wesley groaned, tugging lightly on Rupert's hair.  "Please," he kept saying, urging Rupert to stop tormenting him.  "Want you inside me."

Rupert let Wesley's cock slip from his lips.  The look in his eyes when he met Wesley's gaze caused another series of shudders.  Rupert reached into the nightstand, grabbing the lube and a condom.  Wesley sat up, leaning in for a hard kiss as Rupert rolled on the condom and slicked his fingers.

"Lie back.  Pull your knees as close to your chest as you can." Rupert whispered into his ear and Wesley nodded, swallowing hard and doing as Rupert asked.  He felt strange that way, exposed.

Rupert didn't move for a long moment, just staring at him.  Wesley squirmed a bit and that seemed to call Rupert back to his purpose.  He shook his head slightly and Wesley could see his is Adam’s apple bob as Rupert swallowed hard.

"So beautiful," Rupert said, one finger rubbing a circle around Wesley's entrance.  "You're so eager, love, always so hot."

Wesley gasped at the feel of it, but it was the endearment that had him shutting his eyes, wishing he had the leverage to push back against that teasing finger.  He groaned when Rupert finally pushed inside, welcoming the slight pain and slow burn as Rupert began to work in and out.  His hips bucked as much as was possible, asking for more when Wesley could not find the words.

Rupert pressed another finger inside him and Wesley groaned, throwing his head back and watching through slitted eyes.  Rupert's gaze still held that intense quality, almost burning Wesley as Rupert took in his every moment.  The position that had made him feel so vulnerable only moments before now made him feel somehow erotic.  Rupert's eyes on him that way, the want so openly visible on the man's face.  Wesley shuddered, gasping as a third finger pushed into him, brushing his prostate and setting off sparks along his nerve endings.

He groaned, rocking into Rupert's hand as much as the position would allow, trying to speed up the slow, steady rhythm Rupert had established.

"Rupert . . . I need . . . please."  Wesley panted out the words, his cock twitching at the heat on his lover's face.  Rupert nodded, slowly withdrawing his fingers.  There was a slightly wicked smile on his face as he brushed Wesley's prostate one last time.

Wesley moaned, his head thrown back and eyes closed tight, savoring the series of sparks that raced through him.  Then he felt Rupert shift closer, felt the head of the man's cock press against his entrance.  He snapped his eyes opened, wanting to see Rupert's face as he pushed inside.

Rupert entered slowly and Wesley found it hard to keep his eyes open with all the sensation running through his body.  The burn picked up, filling him only for a moment before stabilizing into a background throb, easily ignored when Rupert was pressing inside him, filling him.  Once fully inside, Rupert's head dropped forward.  Wesley almost whimpered, rocking himself slightly against his partner, needing more, just a little more.  His cock, already aching, was now making it hard to think about anything but getting Rupert to move inside him.

"Wrap, uh . . . Wrap your legs around me," Rupert said, voice hoarse.  He lifted his head, meeting Wesley's eyes and Wesley found his breath catching at the sight.  Rupert leaned forward on his forearms, letting out a low groan.

"God, Rupert . . ." Wesley whispered as he did as Rupert asked.  The angle changed and suddenly Rupert's cock was pressed against his prostate.  Gasping, Wesley moved his hands to Rupert's arms, gripping them hard as Rupert began to move.

The pace was slow at first and Wesley found himself using the leverage of his legs to speed it up.  Every second or third stroke, Rupert's cock would brush his prostate and Wesley would gasp as his body flushed and tingled.  Their rhythm quickly picked up, both of them moving faster, harder.

"Wes . . . touch yourself for me?"

Wesley gasped, nodding.  Prying one hand from Rupert's arm, he skimmed it across his stomach and wrapped it around his cock.  Rupert's eyes grew darker, his pace speeding up as Wesley began to stroke himself, fast and hard, almost desperate.  Rupert slammed into him and Wesley shouted, knowing that Rupert was watching him, pushed Wesley straight over the edge.

His balls drew up hard and fast, orgasm pouring over him.  He bucked against Rupert, gasping and writhing, clenching tight around his lover's cock.  Rupert groaned loudly, pushing in him and going still.  Wesley milked his own orgasm, watching as Rupert came as well.

Rupert collapsed, holding himself up on shaking forearms, his face pressed against Wesley's stomach.  Both of them were panting, breath coming in ragged gasps.

"God, I missed you," Wesley said and then bit his lip, worried both that he shouldn't have said it and that Rupert would think Wesley only meant it because of the sex.  Rupert just laughed, lifting his head to smile and then leaning down to kiss Wesley's stomach.

"And I, you."


	16. Chapter 16

"Faith," Buffy said on a sigh.  Wesley glanced at her, quickly pushing down the thoughts that all came tangled with Faith's name.

"You're sure?" he asked, taking his foil in both hands as he waited.

"One of her pieces," Buffy confirmed, nodding.  "I recognize the brush work."

Wesley tapped his foil against the floor to get Rupert's attention.  Rupert glanced at him with a raised eyebrow.  Wesley smiled and raised his foil, making several quick, light strikes as Rupert read from the paper Buffy had handed him.  

"Brutally stabbed.  Mr. Wirth," Rupert read aloud.  Wesley blinked as Rupert parried the first two of his strikes without actually looking away from the page.  "A visiting professor of geology."  Wesley moved in again, but Rupert parried and gave him a smug glance.  "There's nothing in here that bellows motive."

"Random killing, perhaps?" Wesley suggested, remembering how quick Faith had been to draw that knife on Snyder.  "Fit of rage?"  Wesley went moved forward again, striking low only to have Rupert parry.  "Everybody does seem to be going a bit mad, lately.  Faith has something of a head start."  The last had something of a bitter edge to it, Wesley knew.

"Doesn't read.  I think it's homework," Buffy said.  Rupert handed the paper back to her and signaled the end of the sparring session with his foil.  

"The Mayor wanted the good professor out of the way," Rupert said, thoughtful.

"Which leads to the question, how come?  I'm gonna destroy the entire city, but I take the time to kill harmless Lester first?"  Buffy's expression told how much she believed that.  Wesley snorted, shaking his head.  It didn't make sense, unless--

"Tying up loose ends?"  Rupert said, turning to lay his foil on the library table.  "Lester had something or knew something."

"Then I wanna know too.  The Mayor's trying to hide.  I say we go seek."

"Yes," Wesley agreed, setting aside his own foil and sitting on the edge of the library table, next to Rupert.  "You will go tonight.  Look over his apartment.  Anything of note, report back here." 

"I just love it when you take charge, you man, you," Buffy groused, though she didn't look particularly comfortable with the smile that comment drew from Rupert.

"Uh . . . was that a yes?" Wesley asked, leaning against Rupert just to watch Buffy's nose scrunch.  "I have trouble keeping track."

"I'll go," Buffy clarified, "but if I come back and find you two making out in the office, like Cordelia did, I'm gonna yak all over my new shoes."

"Be careful." Rupert put in wearily, shaking his head.  "If Faith should show up . . ."

"I don't think she'll show."  Buffy leaned in the doorway, her tone more serious now.  "Been there, killed that.  She's not much for follow-up."

"Nonetheless," Rupert put in.  "Keep watch.  Faith has you at a disadvantage, Buffy."

"'Cause I'm not crazy or 'cause I don't kill people?"  Buffy asked with a sigh, crossing her arms.

"Both, actually," Rupert supplied with a grimace.

"I hear you.  I can't kill her, fun as it may sound.  I can make her cry uncle, though, and I mean to."  Buffy gave a determined look and Wesley sighed.

"Don't let your feelings about Faith interfere with your work."  He thought it was good advice, especially given how much trouble he sometimes had doing the same.

"Stopping Faith is my work.  Take a beat to love the synergy."

"Faith is a footnote," Wesley contradicted, straightening and giving Buffy a serious look.  "Our priority is stopping the Ascension."

Xander entered the library then, pulling a vaguely familiar young woman by the arm.  It took Wesley a moment to place her, but he remembered seeing her at the Bronze the night the vampire version of Willow had come to Sunnydale.

"Easier said than done, monarchy boy."  Xander said, making Rupert and he both roll their eyes, sharing a glance.

"Xander," Wesley said, "if you don't have something constructive to add . . ."

"You guys want to know about the Ascension?"  Xander motioned to the girl beside him.  "Well meet the only living person who's ever been to one."

Wesley and Rupert shared another glance.  Rupert stood and pulled out one of the chairs around the library table, motioning the girl into it.  "Have a seat, Anyanka."

"Anya," she corrected, slumping into the chair, looking as if she'd rather be anywhere else at the moment.

"Tell us about the Ascension," Wesley said, wanting to get whatever information they could before she decided to bolt.  Fear was evident in her every movement and that certainly didn't bode at all well.

"About eight hundred years ago in the Kastka Valleys above the Urals, there was a sorcerer there who achieved Ascension.  Became the embodiment of the demon Lo-Hash.  I was there cursing a shepherd who had been unfaithful."  Anya's voice grew more cheerful as she continued.  "His wife had wished that all his sheep would lie with--"

"Can we cut back to the chase?" Buffy interrupted.

"Sorry."  Anya shrugged.  "Lo-Hash was . . . It-it decimated the village within hours.  Maybe three people got out.  I've seen some horrible things in my time.  I've been the cause of most of them, actually, but this . . ."

Wesley cleared his throat, trying to fit this into what he knew.  "I'm sorry," he said, "but Lo-Hash was a four-winged soul killer, am I right?"  He looked to Rupert, who nodded confirmation.  "I was given to understand that they're not that fierce.  Of all the demons that we've faced . . ." he shrugged. 

"You've never seen a demon," Anya contradicted.

"Uh, excuse me?"  Buffy raised her hand.  "Killing them professionally, four years running."

Anya leaned forward, putting her hands on the table and shaking her head.  "All the demons that walk the earth are tainted, are human hybrids like vampires.  The Ascension means that a human becomes pure demon.  They're different."

"Different?"  He and Rupert said together.

"How?" Buffy asked.

Wesley didn't at all like the way Anya paused, the way she hunched in on herself as she shrugged.  "Well, for one thing, they're bigger."  There was something in the way she said it, something that made Wesley shiver and move just a bit closer to Rupert.  It wasn't fear, exactly, because she'd been exuding that since Xander dragged her into the library.  Letting out a slow breath to calm himself, Wesley broke the silence.

"Would you be willing to look over the information we've gathered?  Perhaps you'll spot something we didn't know to look for."  He glanced to the others and saw Rupert and Buffy both nod.

"Uh, yeah, I guess," Anya said.

Wesley went to get his and Rupert's notes.  Digging through the paperwork, he uncovered his volume of Dryden's poetry.  Putting the other papers aside, he picked it up, running a hand over the cover.  He'd left it at Rupert's flat when the Council came to town and it had been there since.  He hadn't much thought about it, there had been other things on his mind.  Why Rupert had brought it here, he didn't know.  After all, Wesley had left several things at Rupert's flat after . . . when they'd not been speaking, and none of the others were here.

"Wesley?"  Rupert's voice startled him and Wesley jumped a little, turning around to face Rupert.

"What?" he asked, ducking his head upon seeing the fond smile on Rupert's lips.

"I was wondering what was taking so long," Rupert replied, amusement thick in his tone.  Then Rupert's eyes slid down to the book in Wesley's hands.  His face growing more serious, Rupert moved to stand before Wesley and ran his fingers over the book's cover.  "I was reading it," he said softly, something in his tone setting off a cascade of warmth in Wesley's stomach.

"Oh," Wesley said, glancing back to the book.  "Feel free to finish."  He made to hand the book to Rupert, but the man shook his head, meeting Wesley's eyes.

"I don't need it anymore."  Wesley wasn't sure why those words made his chest tighten.  Rupert was looking at him in a way he'd never seen before.

"Oh . . . all right."  Smiling shyly, Wesley put the book back on the desk.  He looked back to Rupert when he felt the man's fingers on his arm.

"Okay, you two," Buffy's voice reached them from just outside the office, her tone such that Wesley thought she might have found something particularly disgusting on the bottom of her shoe.  "I'm coming in there and if you two are . . . I meant what I said earlier."

Rupert laughed softly, shaking his head even as he and Wesley stepped apart.  Wesley had to clamp down on the urge to kiss Rupert just so Buffy could walk in on it.  That would be petty, he told himself as he moved to get the notes he'd come in for in the first place.  Buffy gave them a relieved look as she entered, holding out her hands for some of the notes.  Wesley handed them over, giving a few to Rupert and then leading the way back into the library.

Laying it all out before Anya, Wesley took a seat.  There was quiet in the library as Anya paged through the notes, all of them watching her, waiting.

"It doesn't sound like Lo-Hash," she finally said.  "The rituals are all different."

"I wish that were a relief," Rupert muttered, Wesley nodding his agreement.  There were thousands of other demons it could be and if what Anya said was true, and he rather thought it was, this could be even worse than they'd originally thought.

"What's going on?"  Oz asked as he and Willow came through the library doors.

"And how come evil girl's in the mix?"  Willow gave Anya a glare.

"Anya witnessed an Ascension," Rupert explained.

"Oh, that's okay then," Willow said in a tone unique to her.  It made Wesley smile slightly.

"What about the spiders?" Buffy said to Anya, turning them all back to the subject at hand.  "The Mayor had a box of spiders that he had to eat.  The Box of . . . I want to say Grav-Locks?"

"Gavrock," he and Rupert corrected together.

"It doesn't ring a bell," Anya said with a shrug.  She wanted to be here less and less as time passed, Wesley could see it in the way she held herself, hear it in the tone of her voice as she answered questions.  Given what she must have seen . . . he could hardly blame her.

"Well, there must be something that you can remember that would be helpful," Buffy prodded.  Wesley looked to the doors at the sound of their opening, blinking as Mayor Wilkins' walked inside as if he owned the place.  Automatically, Wesley moved to Rupert's side, the others moving farther back.

"So, this is the inner sanctum," the Mayor said, looking about.  "Faith tells me this is where you folks like to hang out, concoct your little schemes.  I tell you, it's just nice to see that some young people are still interested in reading in this modern era.  So, what are kids reading nowadays?"

He strode to the table and the others backed up a bit.  Rupert held his ground, as did Wesley, remaining at his lover's side.  Mayor Wilkins picked up one of their research texts, looking over it. 

"'The beast will walk upon the earth and darkness will follow,'" he read aloud.  "'The several races of man will be as one in their terror and destruction.'  Aw, that's kind of sweet.  Different races coming together."

"You never get even a little tired of hearing yourself speak, do you?" Buffy asked, her tone trying for bored.  There was too much tension in it to pull that off.

"That's one spunky little girl you've raised," the Mayor said with a chuckle, looking to Rupert.  "I'm gonna eat her."

Wesley barely followed what happened next.  He saw Rupert begin to move, but was unsure why.  He saw the flash of one of the fencing foils and then Mayor Wilkins was staggering backward, the foil sticking out of his chest.  Wesley swallowed, looking from Rupert to the Mayor and back again.  The quiet rage on Rupert's face would have been chilling had it been directed at him.

"Whoa!"  The Mayor shook his head.  "Well now, that was a little thoughtless."  He pulled the foil from his chest as if it were a splinter.  "Violent outbursts like that, in front of the children?  You know, Mr. Giles, they look to you to see how to behave."

Nobody moved.  For a heartbeat or two, there was utter silence.  Buffy broke it with a succinct, "Get out."

Mayor Wilkins took a handkerchief from his pocket, slowly wiping his blood from the foil.  "I smell fear," he said, eyes scanning the room.  "That's smart.  Some of your deaths will be quick, if that's worth anything.  Well, see you all at graduation."  He tossed the foil back to Rupert, who caught it easily.  "You don't want to miss my commencement address," he said as he turned to leave.  "It's going to be one heck of a speech."

They were all motionless for a long moment after the Mayor's departure.  Anya stood and ran from the library, Xander sighing and going after her.  There was shuffling as they turned to look at one another, all expressions rather worried.

"This changes nothing," Wesley said, forcing himself to sound confident.  "We still have research to do, things to take care of before graduation."

Buffy nodded, "Yeah.  Uh, I've got to go talk to my mom.  I'll check out that place tonight and let you guys know what I find."  Gathering her books, Buffy nodded at Rupert's warning to be careful and left.

Willow stood next.  "I'll go back to the magical investigations.  I don't know if I've got anything that will help, though."

"Keep looking," Rupert said with a sigh.  "We can't stop now."

"Yeah.  I'll get back on the computer," Oz agreed, holding out his hand to Willow.  The two of them left and it was Rupert and himself again.  Sharing a look, they both hit the books with renewed vigor.

After a few moments, Wesley looked up at Rupert, biting his lips as he thought.  Finally, he said, "That man makes me a bit crazed as well."

Rupert looked up at him and opened his mouth to speak, then shrugged.  "I shouldn't have done that.  It could have . . . it could have ended badly."

Wesley nodded, reaching out to lay his hand on Rupert's.  "It's understandable, though."

Rupert sighed, looking at Wesley's hand on top of his.  "I'm glad you think so," he said softly.  Their eyes met for a moment and then both went back to researching.  Hours passed, though Wesley was only vaguely aware of it.  He and Rupert took turns fetching the coffee, their day measured out in Styrofoam cups.

When Wesley's eyes began to blur to the point where he couldn't read through it, he stretched and closed his book.  Exhaustion had crept up on him and found himself feeling jittery from the caffeine, but still likely to nod off if he let his head lie still long enough.

"I've got nothing," he muttered, pushing the books away.  He set his glasses one the table and rubbed at his eyes, looking up when he felt Rupert's hand on his shoulder.

"Perhaps we should retire for a few hours.  Get a little sleep--"

The library doors burst open and Buffy stumbled in, both trying to support a rather stumbling Angel and carry a box.  Wesley stood, right on Rupert's heels.  Rupert took the box and Wesley took Angel's other side.  It wasn't until then that he realized there was an arrow stuck through Angel's chest.  He and Buffy helped Angel into a chair and Wesley winced at the sight of arrow.

"We'll have to pull that out," Rupert said, setting the box down on the table.  "Wesley?  Why don't you see what information we've got while I help Buffy remove the arrow."

Wesley nodded, going to root through the box.  As Rupert went to get the first aid kit, he tuned out Buffy and Angel's conversation, not wanting to eavesdrop.  There were several notepads and he pulled out the first one, sitting down and beginning to read.  Rupert returned and occasionally Wesley would look up to see how things were going.  They cut off the arrow's fletching, Buffy tugging the shaft through.

Wesley cringed, his own shoulder aching in sympathy, and decided to keep his eyes on the work.  He came to a section regarding a large carcass and quickly found the second notebook with the notes regarding that.  "Fascinating."

"What?" Rupert asked, handing more bandage tape to Buffy.  Wesley glanced up at him and for a moment was struck with the thought that it could be Rupert in that chair one day, perhaps even soon if the Mayor had his way.  Pushing that thought aside, Wesley concentrated on answering Rupert's question.

"It seems our Mr. Wirth headed an expedition in Hawaii, digging in old lava beds near a dormant volcano."

"I'm not fascinated yet," Buffy said, giving him a look before turning back to Angel's wound.

"He found something underneath," Wesley continued.  "A carcass, buried by an eruption."

"A carcass?"  Wesley glanced up at Rupert and nodded, watching as the gears began to turn behind Rupert's eyes.

"A very large one," Wesley supplied.  "Mr. Wirth posits that it might be some heretofore undiscovered dinosaur."

"A demon?" Angel asked.

"Yes, that would be something that the Mayor would want to keep a secret."  Rupert nodded, beginning to clear the table and repack the first aid kit.  "If it's the same kind of demon he's turning into and it's dead, it means that, well, he's only impervious to harm until the Ascension.  In his demon form, he can be killed."  Rupert straightened, removing his glasses and nodding, his face thoughtful in a way Wesley never got tired of seeing.

"Great.  So all we need is a million tons of burning lava," Buffy snarked, moving to help Angel stand.  "We're saved."

"Well, it's a start, anyway."  Angel stumbled and Wesley looked up at him.

"Okay, you've been a real klutz today.  You need . . ." There was something about Angel's expression that did not bode well.

"Damn," Angel said before crashing to the floor.  Wesley stood, he and Rupert both going to Buffy's side.  She crouched over Angel's unconscious body.

"Help me sit him up," she said, her voice containing a slightly frantic edge.  Wesley and Rupert both moved to help, eventually getting him propped against the wall.  Angel woke a few moments later, groaning softly.

"Are you all right," Buffy asked him, reaching up to cup his face in her palm.

"Groggy," Angel replied with a shrug, wincing at the movement in his shoulder.

"Giles?  What did this?" Buffy asked.  Rupert shook his head and then glanced back to the library table.  He stood and Wesley followed him, watching as Rupert sniffed at the tip of the arrow they'd pulled from Angel.

"Perhaps poison?" Wesley suggested and Rupert nodded.

"We'll have to run some tests," he said.

"My shoulder's completely numb," Angel muttered, his voice tight with pain.

"You're burning up," Buffy said, her hand pressed against his face.

"It's poison," Angel confirmed.  "I can feel it."

"Call the others," Rupert said, going to crouch down beside Buffy.  "Get them here.  We need to move him to the safety of his own bed before the sun comes up."

"Will you be able to find out what this is?"  There was a thread of fear in Buffy's voice and Wesley found himself stepping forward, wanting to reassure her.

"The Council has all the known toxins on file, mystical or otherwise," he said.  "I'll contact them immediately."

He suited action to thought, going into the office and carefully shutting the door behind him.  Rupert stuck his head in just as Wesley was beginning to dial.  "We're going.  Come to the mansion when you've got something."

"I will," Wesley assured with nod.  He had to hang up and redial when Rupert left.  He was a bit nervous, wondering to whom he'd be speaking, want Travers would think of this.  The Rogue Slayer had attacked again, and Wesley couldn't help but feel as if this were his fault.  He'd failed with Faith, after all.  If only he'd been more persuasive.  If only he'd started her off on other techniques, made her _want_ his help.  Sighing, he pushed those thoughts away and forced himself to dial.

The conversations went worse than he'd feared.  Far worse.  And there wasn't just one of them.  He'd started with the Council researchers, who told him they couldn't give that information without approval.  He'd waited and waited for Travers, who'd flatly refused to give that approval and then, finally when no other option was left, Wesley had played the only card left to him.

He'd called his father and when that conversation was through, Wesley stared at the phone, all but shaking.

_"He's a vampire, Wesley.  Let him die and tell the Slayer to stop mooning over it.  It's not Council policy to cure vampires.  She's got more important things to think about and so do you.  The other Slayer, for instance.  Faith?  You should have let the Council take her."_

_"Father, Buffy loves Angel and Angel is--"_

_"She can't afford such frivolities.  Wesley."  The disappointment was clear in just the way his father said his name.  Wesley once against felt as if he were ten, staring up at his father, reciting the rules of Carsian grammar over and over until he had them all exactly right.  "You should know better than this.  I taught you better than this.  You're letting them have too much rein, boy.  Get your Slayers under control."_

_"Yes, sir," Wesley had said softly._

_"Goodbye."_

_"Goodbye."_

Wesley laid his head in his hands, trying to still the trembling in his fingers.  He couldn't put this off.  He had to tell Buffy and he couldn't imagine her reaction.  Well, no, he could.  Not the words themselves, but the anger.  He could understand it.  He'd feel the same, but he also knew what he had to do, what he had to say.  She was going to want to dismember him.

Sighing, Wesley stood, throwing on his jacket and going to his car.  The mansion wasn't far and he approached it with a sick dread curling through his gut.  As he walked in, Buffy stood from her seat before the fireplace.  The hopeful look in her eyes felt like a knife in his gut.

"Did you reach the council?" Rupert asked and Wesley looked over to see him standing by the open patio doors.  Soon, there would be disappointment in those eyes and he couldn't hold Rupert's gaze for long.  It was even worse than meeting Buffy's.

"Yes."  His voice was soft, hesitant.  "They, they couldn't help."

"Couldn't?" Buffy asked, shaking her head.

"Wouldn't," Wesley clarified.  "It's not Council policy to cure vampires," he repeated his father's words and felt nauseated by them.

"Did you explain that these were special circumstances?" Rupert asked, though he looked as if he already knew.

"Not under any circumstances," he said, now finding Quentin Travers speaking with his lips.  "And yes," he added.  "I did try to convince them."

"Try again," Buffy said, staring at him so hard Wesley could almost feel it.

"Buffy, they're very firm."  Wesley wanted to snort at the understatement, but held it at bay, forcing more of Travers' words.  "We're talking about laws that have existed longer than civilization."

"I'm talking about watching my lover die," Buffy said, the anguish in her voice making Wesley's chest constrict.  "I don't have a clue what you're talking about and I don't care."

"Buffy, we'll find a cure," Rupert rushed to assure her.  Wesley dared at glance at him and found himself meeting Rupert's eyes.  There was sympathy instead of disgust there and Wesley's knees nearly gave out at his sense of relief.  Then he remembered that there was more to say and his stomach twisted hard.

"The Council's orders are to concentrate on--"

"Orders?  I don't think I'm gonna be taking any more orders.  Not from you, not from them."  Buffy's voice was hard and cold. 

"You can't turn your back on the Council," Wesley objected.

"They're in England.  I don't think they can tell which way my back is facing."  Buffy gave him a disgusted look.  "What would you do, Wes?  Huh?  If it were Giles lying in there, dying?  Would you concentrate on whatever the Council told you to?  Would you ignore him?  Let him die?"

Wesley stared, taken aback.  Rupert opened his mouth to intervene, but Wesley spoke up, his whole body tight, heart beating faster at just the thought.  His throat was so tight it was hard to get the words out.  "If it were a choice between Rupert and the world?"  Wesley closed his eyes against the prickling behind them and then opened them, meeting Buffy's gaze.  "Yes," the word emerged soft and strangled.  "And I would expect Rupert to do the same."

"You bastard," Buffy began, only to have Rupert step in.

"Buffy, that's not fair." Rupert's words were soft, but firm.  Buffy shook her head.

"No.  No more orders."

"Rupert, talk to her," Wesley insisted, trying to clamp down on the fear rolling through him.  So much of it and all for different reasons.  Would Rupert think him cold?  If Buffy did this, went through with this . . . it boggled his mind.  The Council was all there was, it was the backbone of everything.  Slayers . . . died, the Council didn't.  And, while he certainly didn't want Buffy dead, the thought of her leaving the Council shook his world.  Where would it leave him?  He'd have nothing at all to offer, anyone.  His only use was his connection to the Council, not that it had proven very useful.

Not that he had proven very useful.

"I . . . I've nothing to say right now."  Rupert's voice was soft and he gave Wesley a look that wasn't an apology, but was something . . . perhaps he was asking Wesley to understand.

"Wesley, go tell your Council that until the next Slayer comes along they can close up shop.  I'm not working for them anymore."

Wesley sputtered, trying to find words, scrambling for a way to make this right.  "Don't you see what's happening?  Faith poisoned Angel to distract you, to keep you out of the Mayor's way, and it's working.  You need a strategy."

"I have a strategy.  The Council's not in it."

"This is mutiny," he gasped, fear filling him.

"I like to think of it as graduation," she said before turning to Rupert.  "Giles, I can't stay here any more.  I'm gonna see if I can help the others."

"Of course." 

"You'll watch him?"

"I'll call if there's any change," Rupert said.  Wesley stood there, opened mouthed.

"Buffy, you don't know what you're doing," he tried, one last time, to make her listen, to understand.  Throwing away the Council's resources just because they wouldn't help this time . . .

Buffy only glared at him and walked past, leaving.  Wesley watched her go and then glanced back to Rupert.  He stared for a long moment, taking a step back when Rupert stepped toward him.

"Because supporting her decision is imperative?" Wesley asked.  He was trembling again, angry and afraid.

"Because she's right," Rupert said softly, his eyes sad.  "Their refusal to help . . . They're trying to force her to do things their way.  Her way is what has gotten us--"

"The Council," Wesley interrupted, shaking his head.  "Rupert, the Council is all there is.  Without it . . ."

"That's not true, Wesley," Rupert took another step toward him and Wesley didn't back away.  "There's Buffy.  There's . . . us.  We . . . She doesn't need them.  They've been useless.  Every one of their interferences has only brought more trouble--"

"Does that include me?" Wesley snapped.

"Wesley, you know I didn't mean--"

"No, Rupert.  I don't know that."  Wesley turned and left, not hearing if Rupert said anything further.


	17. Chapter 17

He didn't remember getting to his car.  Wesley just found himself driving, going nowhere in particular.  He changed direction and headed for his flat, trying to keep his rolling emotions in check.  His entire body trembled now, his stomach feeling strangely light, as if it had been ripped out and there was a gapping hole where it had been.  He kept the thoughts away by analyzing exactly how he felt, cataloguing each place that felt numb or hollow or hurting.

It didn't work for long.

He arrived at his flat, opening the door in a daze and looking around as if he didn't know the place any longer.  Shutting the door behind him, he leaned back against it.  That was it.  It was over.  He was over.  The Council would sack him for this, losing not one but two Slayers.  His father would be furious in his own, cold, way.  And he'd have to call, have to tell them.

Wesley was surprised to find that those concerns were all secondary.  It was losing Rupert that hurt the most, made him ache in ways he hadn't thought possible.  Before, when he'd been avoiding the man, he'd known he'd see Rupert, known there would be chances to talk to him, to . . . Now there would be nothing.  He would go back to England--he couldn't call it home any longer--and he would hurt.

Sliding down the door, Wesley collapsed into a sitting position, the pain welling up and drowning out all else.  Tears burned his eyes and Wesley couldn't hold them down.  They forced their way out, rocking his body with sobs as he crossed his arms over himself, holding himself.

He'd have to get used to that again.

Wesley forced himself to stand, going into the bedroom with the vague idea of packing.  The tears were still coming, uncontrollable, but he couldn't just sit there.  He stood for a moment in his bedroom, looking around for something to occupy his hands.  Then he sat on the bed, the tears coming harder as he realized that he'd wake up every day in England and his first thoughts would be of Rupert, just as they had been here.  Only he'd have no hope of seeing him.

He must have fallen asleep at some point.  The phone woke him and Wesley turned over, scrambled to answer it.

"Hello?"  His voice was tight and choked, the result, he supposed of his breakdown.  Lovely.

"Hey, Wes?  It's Cordelia.  Are . . . are you all right?"

Wesley sighed, looking around his small, sterile bedroom.  "No.  Not particularly."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm, uh, I’m going back to England," he said softly.  "And I have to pack.  So, I'm sorry, but I can't talk."

"Oh . . . okay.  'Bye."

"Goodbye."  He hung up the phone and sat there, staring at the wall.  He still felt as if several holes had been ripped into him, leaving him empty.  Hollow.

Every day of his young life, Wesley had dreamed about being the active Watcher.  His father had made certain that he worked hard, his mother calling him a prodigy and parading him before her friends.  He was to make them proud.  He'd imagined it a thousand different ways, with a thousand different Slayers.  The Council would laud him for his work and his father would tell him that he was doing well.  As he grew, the scenarios had changed, of course, but always those last two aspects held true.  Then he'd been called in and told that everything he'd ever aspired to was being given to him.

Wesley had never felt such gut wrenching terror in all his life.  On the flight to LAX, he'd reviewed every failure, every mistake he'd ever made and he'd vowed to himself that he'd never make them again.  Sunnydale would bring all he'd ever wanted.  He'd told himself that and from the first day he'd fumbled, making all new mistakes.  First with Rupert, then with Buffy and Faith, then with Balthazar.  The list was long and unfortunately seemed to contain mostly the same people, over and over.

Everything he'd ever done had been to get where he was right now and, reaching that goal, he found it nothing like he'd imagined.  He'd been alone and terrified and determined and so very certain of the Council and his role, his purpose.  His purpose was everything that defined him.

Who was he without it?

Wesley paused at that thought, his forehead furrowing.  He didn't have a Slayer, never would now.  He didn't have the Council's backing.  After the mess he'd made here, he was fairly certain they'd sack him, or shove him in some dusty office to spend the rest of his days translating things that might never matter.  He didn't have his father's approval, but he'd never had that.

Who was he now, right at this moment?

He blinked, looking down at himself.  He hadn't changed.  Buffy had rejected the Council, had rejected their orders, but not him.  Rupert hadn't turned his back on him.  Rupert . . . Rupert who had always pulled him close.  Rupert who he'd cast aside because he felt he had nothing to give.  Rupert who had missed him and pulled him close again without a single question.  Rupert who had said he wouldn't hate him if he left.  Rupert who had been reading his book of Dryden's poems while they were apart, but didn't need it any longer.  Rupert, who made him feel warm again . . .

The phone rang, but Wesley ignored it, taking in deep breaths as he thought about these things.  Slowly, his tears ceased and he could hear the answerphone click on.  "Hello.  You've reached Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.  I'm not in at the moment, please leave a message."

"Uh, Wesley, I-I don't know if you're there."  Rupert's voice filled his flat and Wesley sat up, listening.  How could he not?  Many might not have recognized that tone, might have thought that Rupert was only tired, but Wesley knew better.  He could hear the pain underneath.  "Cordelia said that, uh, that you were going back to England.  Uh, Buff-Buffy's in the hospital.  Perhaps I shouldn't have called if you're . . . . leaving.  I only wanted . . . I have to go."

Wesley stood, grabbing his wallet and keys and shoving them into his pockets, all of his tangled thoughts pushed to the background by the worry and hurt in Rupert's voice.  He was out of the flat soon after, in his car and heading to the hospital.  What could have happened?  He didn't let his mind dwell on that, instead driving far faster than he should.

Wesley met Angel in the hall, not even bothering with pleasantries.  "Where are they?"

"Hey, uh, they're over there and through the doors on the left . . . I have to go.  The sun's going to . . ." Angel motioned to the doors and Wesley nodded.

"Thank you," he said over his shoulder, turning and going where Angel had directed him. Rupert and the others were scattered.  Xander paced the hall, Willow and Oz sat in a row of hideous plastic seats.  Rupert leaned against the wall, his head bowed, staring at the floor.  Wesley forced his pace to be slow as he went to stand beside Rupert.  Rupert glanced up at him, face tense with worry.  He said nothing.

For long moments they were both that way.  Wesley had no idea what to say, what to ask, what to do.  He kept looking over at Rupert and sometimes he would catch Rupert looking at him.  Then, on an impulse, he reached out and slid his hand into Rupert's.  Rupert squeezed lightly, glancing over at him.

"You're leaving?" Rupert asked softly.  "Uh, Cordelia said that she spoke to you."

"I thought I was," he replied, turning to Rupert, giving him a small smile.

Rupert seemed surprised.  "You've changed your mind, then?"

"Well," Wesley began slowly.  It was a hard thing to say, some part of his mind still shouting that it would reveal too much, open him up to pain.  "If I survive this, I . . . can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be."  Having admitted that, Wesley glanced sidelong at Rupert and found the man studying him.

"How do I know you won't bolt again?"  Rupert's voice was soft, the undercurrent of pain taking Wesley by surprise somehow.  Blinking, Wesley opened his mouth to speak and then shut it, looking down at his own feet, though he didn't let go of Rupert's hand, couldn't.

He hadn't considered what Rupert must be feeling and, for that, Wesley felt like a cad and worse.  But he hadn't credited himself without enough . . . worth to cause that kind of pain.  Anger, yes, but not the hurt that looked at him through Rupert's eyes.  He hadn't believed, until just then, that his absence mattered so much, well, not to anyone but himself.

Wesley finally answered, taking a deep breath and glancing up.  "I won't run, Rupert.  I can't anymore."  He had too look away as he whispered, "It hurts too much."

There was no verbal response from Rupert and Wesley finally dared a glance at his lover once again.  Rupert was studying him, face serious.  Finally, Rupert gave a small nod, squeezing Wesley's hand.  "Faith's here as well.  In a coma."

Wesley gasped, pushing himself away from the wall to face Rupert.  He stood there for a heartbeat, unsure what to do.  Then, finally, he looked back to the floor.  "How did it happen?"

"She was stabbed, in the stomach . . . with a knife."  There was a significant tone to Rupert's last words, but it took Wesley a dumbfounded moment to understand.

" _The_ knife?"  Wesley found himself whispering.  Rupert sighed, nodding.  "And in the stomach?  Like the skeleton in the cairn?"  Another nod.  "Disloyalty," Wesley said quietly, remembering the knife humming through the air above his head, pinning that creature to the wall, maybe saving his life.  The life of her " _boss'_ " enemy.

Wesley had no idea what to do with that information.  He stood there, his forehead furrowing as he tried to fit it in somewhere.  And then Rupert was leaning closer to him, his voice so low Wesley wasn't even certain Oz could pick up the words from where he sat five feet away.  "It's not your fault.  Buffy and she fought."

"But the knife," Wesley said softly, glancing up to Rupert and taking some small comfort from the sympathy in the man's eyes.  "I . . ."

"We were all fooled, Wesley.  They beat you to a bloody pulp and left a trail of breadcrumbs.  For a chance to make them look as badly as you did after they . . ." Rupert shook his head and Wesley had to bite his lip to keep from speaking.  Now wasn't the time, or the place, but . . . He gave Rupert a small, if wan, smile and nodded.  He wasn't entirely convinced, but it helped to know that someone at least understood his train of thought, even if Rupert didn't agree with him.

Buffy emerged from one of the rooms then, drawing everyone's attention.  Wesley was right behind Rupert as they rushed to her.  He pushed all thoughts of Faith from his mind.  He'd think about that later, assuming he managed to live through this.

"Are you okay?" Xander was asking, followed quickly by Rupert's, "How do you feel?" 

"Is Angel here?" she asked, looking around, ignoring both the questions.  There was a hardness to her eyes that Wesley had never seen before.

"He had to go.  It got kinda sunny." Oz explained.

"Get him.  Get everyone," Buffy said, her voice flat, but firm.

"What exactly is up?" Xander asked, his words once again almost on top of Rupert's, "Buffy, are you sure you're all right?" 

"I'm ready," Buffy said and despite everything, she looked it.  Ready for the Mayor, ready for someone to try and stop her from doing just what she felt she had to.  Wesley was glad that, for the moment, the two of them weren't on opposite sides of the situation.

"Ready for what?" Willow asked the very question on Wesley's mind.

"War."  Buffy's pronouncement silenced them all.  She turned, her eyes finding him.  "The Council's not welcome here.  I have no time for orders."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not here for the Council," he said softly.  Her eyes flicked over to Rupert and then she looked back to him, gaze sliding down to their still joined hands.  She met his eyes once again.  She wasn't smiling, but she nodded.

"Yeah.  It's a good thing."

The trip to the library was a blur.  Wesley had to force himself to let go of Rupert's hand, realizing what an unseemly show that was.  Still, he couldn't seem to stop glancing over, to make sure Rupert was still there, still with him.  Wesley had to keep assuring himself that he wasn't dreaming.

Largely because his actions were going to get him sacked.  Even if he wasn't already disgraced in the Council's eyes, this would do it.  Working with Rupert, supporting yet another 'rogue Slayer', because that's what the Council would call her, he was throwing himself in with the Council's opposition and . . .

"The Council won't have me, after this," Wesley said, doing little more than speaking his thoughts aloud.  They'd just arrived at the school.  Rupert turned the car off and turned to look at him.

"You could lie.  You'll never be assigned to a Slayer or Potential after this, but . . . they'd find some way to use your talents if you . . ." Rupert shrugged one shoulder, giving him a searching look.

"I could.  I'm not going to," Wesley answered softly, giving Rupert another wan smile.  "I can still do good.  Even if the Council . . . I'm not completely useless."  Wesley gave a small, snorting laugh, using the self-deprecating humor to push aside the fears niggling at the back of his mind.

"You're not useless at all," Rupert contradicted, reaching out to cup Wesley's face.

"I--I don't want to be," Wesley said, afraid that the desperation he felt might have slipped into his voice.  "But, I have no place here.  I'm not _needed_."

"I need you," Rupert said, giving him a small smile.  "Is that enough?"

"I want it to be."  Wesley answer was more vehement than even he had expected.

"Then I'll see that it is."  Rupert's smile was wider now, his tone so swaggering and confident that Wesley actually found himself smiling in return, almost laughing.

"You're dangerously close to hubris, Rupert," he said, smile turning fond.

"And I need you around to keep me humble," Rupert replied, but as his lips covered Wesley's a heartbeat later, Wesley made no reply.  

The kiss was desperate on both ends.  Rupert seemed to be trying to devour him.  Wesley wasn't exactly opposed to the idea.  He kissed Rupert back with equal ardor, moaning softly into his lover's mouth when Rupert nipped at his lips.  When the kiss ended, Wesley was panting, finding himself eager to dive in again, but knowing they had no time.  They had to prepare.  He stared at Rupert for a long moment, both of them trying to catch their breath and calm down before going inside to join the children.

"Are you all right," Wesley asked softly.  This time it was his hand reaching up to cup Rupert's face, reveling in the scratchy feel of stubble against his palm.

"I will be.  If we all live through this," Rupert's worry was clear and, for the first time, Wesley knew with certainty he was included in that statement.  "We should go and see what Buffy's come up with."

Wesley nodded and they both pulled away.  Neither of them spoke again on the way to the library.  The situation was finally sinking in and Wesley knew Rupert had to be as tense as he was.  They might not make it through this.  One, or both, or all . . . It was just one more thing Wesley had to struggle not to think about.  He managed to push his fears aside, for the most part, as he listened to Buffy lay out her plan.  It was genius and he said so, later, when he and Rupert were packing away the books in the stacks.  He could hardly believe that, in a few hours, this library would be rubble.  If everything went as planned.

It was then that his fears began to get a foothold.  Wesley looked over at Rupert and he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the explosives were placed correctly, if Rupert were too close to the blast, if the Mayor survived and found himself faced with Buffy, who he quite obviously wanted dead, and Rupert, who had stabbed him through the chest with a fencing foil.

"You're staring," Rupert said without looking up, a smile in his voice.

"I'm worrying," Wesley replied with a derisive snort.  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to be as brave as the others.  He couldn't keep himself from thinking about what could happen.  Even after all the concerns had been addressed and they'd worked hard to plan everything out just so . . .

Rupert looked up at him then, the smile that had been in his tone gone from his face.  "I know.  There are so many things that could go wrong."  Rupert shook his head, glancing down at the books in his hands.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Wesley said with a sigh, leaning back against the bookcase he'd been unloading.  He couldn't help but consider the possibilities.  He'd finally decided on a course, on a place and now it could be snatched away.  Wesley glanced up to find Rupert staring at him now.  He couldn't help but wonder if Rupert's thought ran the same way his did, if Rupert were currently numbering the things that could go wrong on Wesley's end.

"I'm still wrapping my mind around this," Wesley said with a shrug.  "You've done this before.  All of you have and I . . ." Wesley shook his head, unsure what he'd have said had he finished.

Rupert leaned forward then and Wesley met him half way, welcoming the comfort of Rupert's touch as he wrapped an arm around Wesley's waist.  Wesley's slid his hands around to Rupert's back, pulling the man closer, trying to get more contact even though he knew they shouldn't be doing this, not here and not now.  They should be preparing for the fight.

Of course, that didn't stop him from moaning when Rupert pressed forward, backing Wesley up until the shelves pressed into his back and arse.  Wesley certainly didn't care.  He was too busy tasting Rupert, desperate to feel more of that warmth that coursed through him at even Rupert's smallest touch.  He knew they should stop.  He was even beginning to gather himself to pull away, to say so, and then Rupert moaned into his mouth and Wesley was lost to everything except making Rupert sound that way again.

He nipped at Rupert lips, pulling away to draw in ragged breaths.  Rupert worked his way down Wesley's jaw to his neck, nipping lightly and then sucking on that soft spot behind Wesley's ear.

"Oh, God," Wesley breathed softly, tugging Rupert's shirt from his trousers and thrusting his hands beneath to feel skin.  Unfortunately, with Rupert's tongue working diligently at his collarbone, reality was intruding.  They couldn't do this.  Anyone could walk in.  Wesley was beginning to think he really was dreaming, or he'd lost his mind, especially when his cock began to fill at the thought.  "Rupert, you're debauched," Wesley finally managed around the lump in his throat.  "We shouldn't--"

Wesley's words cut off on a gasp as Rupert bit at his shoulder.  Wesley's hips bucked forward, his cock beginning to fill.  They were in the library, for the love of God and yet Wesley couldn't make himself let go of Rupert and Rupert didn't seem at all inclined to let go of him.

"Perhaps not," Rupert murmured against his skin, those lovely fingers not even pausing as they worked on Wesley's buttons.  "It's likely a bad idea."  Rupert wasn't stopping, though; quite the opposite, in fact.  He kissed his way to one of Wesley's nipples, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.  Wesley tilted his head back at the sensation, ignoring the slight thump of his skull against the shelf.

"Rupert," Wesley didn't even know what he meant by that.  Stop.  Don't stop.  God, yes, right there.  His body seemed to have a good idea of what it wanted, however and Rupert seemed to have an even better one.  Wesley dug his fingertips into Rupert's back, swallowing down another gasp as Rupert worked his way back to Wesley's neck.  The man's hands were sliding down, however, settling against Wesley's hips and radiating a heat that penetrated Wesley's trousers and seemed to brand his skin.

Rupert pressed forward again, his hard cock pressing against Wesley's thigh and making them both gasp.  Wesley moved to catch Rupert's mouth, kissing him hard and working his fingertips under the waistband of Rupert's trousers.

"God, I want you."  Rupert spoke against Wesley's lips, his hips thrusting forward and grinding their cocks together.

"Dangerous," Wesley managed to get out before kissing Rupert again, throwing himself into it as he realized this could be the last time he did this, the last time they touched one another.  Then Rupert was pulling away and Wesley actually found himself disappointed that his cautions had broken through the haze.

_I really have gone mad._

And then Rupert dropped to his knees before Wesley, fingers frantic as they undid the button of Wesley's trousers.  Wesley almost choked on his indrawn breath, his hands resting on Rupert's shoulders and squeezing hard.

"I . . . God, Rupert, _please_."  And again he wasn't sure what he wanted.  His hips thrust forward however, his cock brushing those agile fingers.  Rupert's hand slipped into his trousers, pushing aside his boxers and wrapping around his cock in just the right way to make Wesley want to groan.

He bit his lip, desperate to keep the sound in, watching with wide eyes as Rupert looked up at him.  The man's motions were slow, giving Wesley plenty of time to tell him to stop.  Wesley didn't however, instead, he panted, watching as Rupert pulled his cock free and licked at the head.

Wesley wasn't sure which was more arousing; the sight of Rupert, on his knees and licking him, or the feel of it.  One of his hands slid up to tangle in Rupert's hair and that seemed to be all the encouragement Rupert needed.  He leaned forward, taking Wesley's cock between his lips, his tongue working along the underside and making Wesley feel rather weak in the knees.  Leaning back against the bookcase, Wesley couldn't tear his eyes away.  He watched as Rupert's cheeks hollowed, as Rupert's hand slid inside his trousers to cup and roll his balls.

He wanted to shout with the feel of it, wanted call out Rupert's name.  He managed not to, however, and the stacks were filled only with the soft sounds of Rupert's mouth working his cock and Wesley's heart pounding in his ears.

His balls were tightening, the situation unbearably erotic.  Wesley knew he'd worry about himself for that, but later.  Right at that moment all that mattered was the feel of Rupert's warm, wet mouth moving over the head of his cock, Rupert's hand squeezing gently at his tingling balls.

Fighting the urge to buck, to get more of that delicious heat, Wesley couldn't bite back a whimper.  Then Rupert began to work his way down Wesley's shaft, taking in a little more and the a little more until Rupert's nose was pressed into Wesley's pubic hair.  Then he swallowed and Wesley shuddered, orgasm spiking through him and setting his nerves on fire.

Wesley choked back another groan, nearly doubling over Rupert.  His hands on Rupert's shoulders were likely the only thing keeping him upright as the peak of his orgasm passed and left waves of afterglow sliding through him.  Wesley dropped to his knees, face to face with Rupert.  Then they were kissing again, Rupert's mouth hot and hungry on his own, tasting of him.

Wesley slid his hand down Rupert's chest, brushing his lover's hard nipples through the stiff fabric of Rupert's shirt.  Rupert made a needy noise in the back of his throat and Wesley pulled away from the kiss.

"Stand up," he told Rupert.  "Want to taste you.  Please, I . . ." Wesley shook his head, unable to articulate.  It was stupid, it was dangerous and they'd already pressed their luck, but there was a chance he'd never have that taste on his tongue again, bitter and salty and _Rupert_.

Rupert complied, his breathing coming in fast, quick gasps as he stood and braced his hands against the shelf over Wesley's head.  Wesley didn't hesitate.  His fingers seemed awkward and clumsy, but it could have just been his own sense of haste.  He finally got Rupert's button undone, pulling down the zip and reveling in the soft, half-stifled moan that slipped from Rupert's lips.

Wesley took a moment just to enjoy the feel of Rupert's cock in his hand.  Thick and warm and so soft.  The weight of it against his palm was familiar and natural.  Wesley pulled it free, leaning in to taste the precum at the head of it, licking his way down in slow, teasing circles.

A whimper from Rupert brought their situation home once again.  Wesley glanced up to find Rupert biting his own arm to keep from making too much noise.  Shivering at the sight, because he loved being able to do that to his lover, Wesley leaned in and began to lick and suck in earnest.  He worked a hand into Rupert's boxers, brushing his fingers along Rupert's balls and wishing he could do more, wishing they had the time and privacy for him to touch Rupert the way he wanted to.

Pushing that last thought aside, Wesley flicked his tongue against the head of Rupert's cock over and over again, tightening his lips and sliding them up and down the shaft.  Rupert's legs were trembling under his hand, his balls tightening between Wesley's fingers.

Wesley redoubled his efforts and Rupert's hips jerked slightly and he came, filling Wesley's mouth.  Swallowing, Wesley milked Rupert's orgasm or a moment before pulling away and tucking Rupert back into his trousers.  Doing the same for himself, Wesley stood with Rupert's arms still braced against the bookcase, now on either side of him.

They both moved in to kiss, tasting one another yet again.  Rupert leaned against him; feeling as near to boneless as one could be and still be standing.  Wesley leaned back against the bookcase and let it hold them both up.

*****

Wesley blinked, trying to figure out why the light was so bright.  Hadn't there been an eclipse?  He remembered translating that there would be an eclipse.  It was fuzzy, but he thought he even remembered the eclipse.

His eyes began to adjust to the bright light and he blinked, trying to get the world to come into focus around him.  It took a long moment, but suddenly the room around him began to make sense, as did the beeping that sounded in his ears.  A hospital.  Bloody lovely.

There were soft sounds to his right.  At first Wesley's hazy mind couldn't place them and he lay still for what seemed an eternity, cataloging each sound until he'd put them all together.  The whisper-rustle of clothing.  The soft swish of a turning page.  Slow, even breathing.

"Rupert?"  He sounded a bit more hopeful than he'd intended.

"Awake, Wes?"  Rupert's voice came from his right and he turned his head, wondering why the world seemed to take a moment to catch up with his movement.  Rupert sat in a chair pulled up close to Wesley's bedside.  Wesley's volume of Dryden's poetry was in his hands, though Rupert carefully bookmarked it and laid it aside.

"You're here," Wes found himself smiling, or, at least, the thought he was.  It was a bit hard to tell.  Rupert smiled back at him, however, so he couldn't have done too bad a job.

"Where else would I be?"  Rupert's hand moved to his and Wesley's eyes followed it of their own volition.  There was an IV in the back of Wesley's hand and he stared at it for a moment before finally getting his gaze to move back to Rupert's.

"How bad?"  Wesley asked with a sigh.

"Concussion, three cracked ribs and a sprained wrist," Rupert said.

"I feel . . . fuzzy.  You always make me feel fuzzy . . . and warm."

Rupert smiled then, though he looked as if he was trying not to for some reason.  "They've got you on rather a lot of pain medication.  You, uh, insisted.  Loudly."

Wesley winced.  "Disgraced myself?"

"Well, you're hardly the only one in the hospital.  And . . . some weren't that lucky."  Rupert's voice was heavy for a moment, but he seemed to shake that off.  "The Mayor is dead."

Wesley sighed with relief, his eyelids drooping.  Was his voice slurred around the edges?  "How much pain medication?"

"Rather a lot.  I think, uh, I think they wanted to keep you quiet," Rupert put in with a small chuckle.

Wesley glared at him, or tried to, but given that Rupert only smiled at him, he thought me must not have managed it well at all.  "Shouldn't laugh at a man with a concussion," he muttered.

"I'm just glad I have someone to split them with."  Rupert's hand squeezed his and Wesley couldn't help a small smile.

"We won," Wesley said softly, boggling.  They'd won.  They'd saved the world.  They'd lived.  But not all of them had.  Wesley wanted to ask who was all right, who had made it through.  He must have actually said something about it aloud, because Rupert began telling him.

"Buffy, Willow, Xander, Oz and Cordelia are all fine, if dazed.  Snyder was eaten, several students . . . well, the Mayor took a toll.  And, of course, Faith is still in a coma."

It took Wesley a long time to remember why Faith was injured.  She hadn't fought with them, after all.  Then he turned a sad look to Rupert.  "Uh, is . . . is Faith in this hospital?"

Rupert's forehead furrowed.  "Yes.  She is.  Why?"

"I want to visit her," he said softly.  He felt Rupert squeeze his hand again.

"Of course."  They were both quiet for a long moment.  Wesley stared at Rupert, smiling and unable to stop himself.  Despite the injuries, he still couldn't think of a single other place he'd rather be.

"What?" Rupert asked after a moment.

"It's over.  This one is, at least."

"Yes," Rupert said softly.  "I was telling Buffy that I found a dramatic irony attached to all this.  A synchronicity that borders on predestination and--"

"Rupert?"  Wesley waited until his lover looked at him, "It _is_ rather a lot of pain medication."

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this story is several years old now, but I still get comments on it, so I must have done something right. I'm moving it to AO3 so that it has a nice comfortable home.
> 
> Big, huge thanks to janedavitt, kyrieane, malnpudl, and psychoadept for their beta magic. Thanks to the Buffyverse Dialogue Database for, well, the dialogue. And thank you to everyone who read the first versions of these stories. Your interest and feedback have made this a pleasure to work on.


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